


His prize fighter

by baeconandeggs, koizoras (desertship)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe — Percy Jackson, Astronauts, Fantasy, Gambling, Light Angst, M/M, Past Character Death, Pining, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/desertship/pseuds/koizoras
Summary: They say some loves last a lifetime, true love forever. For Baekhyun and Chanyeol, love could last one lifetime, many, or none at all.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 36
Kudos: 76
Collections: BAE2020





	His prize fighter

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** BAE964  
>  **Disclaimer: baeconandeggs/the mods is/are not the author/s of this story. Authors will be credited and tagged after reveals.** The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author's Note:** Thank you to the mods for hosting this round! I’ve wanted to write something set in this AU forever, glad to have finally done a take on it. Hope you enjoy reading!

He’d been there when the shuttle first launched. It was to be another feat for mankind; a new frontier, a milestone in the human conquest of the universe. He waited several hundred feet away from the launchpad, amongst a thousand illustrious officers and engineers, guests and scientists. They stood in an enclosed viewing gallery on the mountainslope overlooking Pillar Bay, where the rocket idled, engines igniting.

A new form of travel — his domain. 

They’d had other space missions before, but this time man was going up with the ship. A whole team of them, men and women — and they were going to walk untethered. Something so incredible that just ten years ago, nobody could have even dreamed of it. Science was moving faster than imagination. 

The spacecraft blasted off, buoyed by a pillar of smoke. Muffled gasps of awe and joy broke out across the room, barely making an imprint on his awareness. A brief silence later, an excited murmur crept back over the crowd, spreading. It was fascinating, Baekhyun thought, the advances humanity had made. Who knows where they’d be in another hundred years, or if there’d even be a place left for people like him.

He shifted the camera and clicked.

The craft advanced spaceward, burning a hole through the stratosphere, until it had ascended to a land beyond the gods and could no longer be seen.

Months on, weeks after the spacecraft had carried its passengers back to earth, Baekhyun returned to Ascension Island for the landing event. The first seaplane landed at dawn, Baekhyun onboard, and its passengers disembarked in messy rows, crowd scattering as they moved down the boardwalk which followed the contour of Mars Bay. Beyond the land’s edge was an endless stretch of South Atlantic.

They were at the opposite end of the island from the launchpad and space centre, which housed different operations — a naval base, an observatory with a heliometer, geological research outposts. At the foot of the mountain, a new cable car line ran to the monastery on top of a dormant volcano, a single gondola hanging off the line. 

Baekhyun moved with the crowd as the boardwalk widened and merged into pavement. The island had grown a sizeable community since he had last set foot here, and now had something resembling a high street. The first few garages were parked with desert rovers for navigating the barren land. Further on, an imposing set of gates led off into a complex signposted as an observatory.

Next to the signpost stood a portly lady in a flowing green dress the colour and texture of damp moss. Mist rose from the ground around her, curling around her calves. 

“Chelone,” Baekhyun said, not attempting to conceal his indifference. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you think I would be here if I could help it? I am confined to Green mountain,” she said. “I have not forgiven you.”

Baekhyun sighed. “I told you, the decision wasn’t mine.”

“You are not welcome here.”

“Then try getting rid of me.” He reached up to touch the pen attached to his pocket, which lengthened into a staff in his hands, twin snakes curling around the shaft. Instantly, Chelone vanished in a puff of smoke.

Signposts for the private press reception started cropping up just a couple blocks down the road, pointing towards a black and white bungalow by the land’s edge. It stood on an elevated foundation, with a high pitched roof and wide overhanging eaves. Baekhyun liked the look of it — it had a kind of old-school charm.

He walked into the venue without presenting identification and sat on one of the central stools, balancing the analog camera in his lap. The room had been rearranged for its purpose, bright spotlights illuminating a long wooden workbench and covered table on the far side, windows open around the journalists’ side of the room, haloing them in backlight and casting faces into shadow as they streamed slowly in. 

Finally, one of the lanyard-wearing workers shut the swinging doors and the guests made their entrance. There were ten of them in total. The commander, a white middle-aged man with greying hair, sat in the centre. His namecard bore the stars and stripes. Next to him was the assistant commander — a blonde, dark-skinned lady with an ageless face, bearing the flag of the Netherlands. Next to her was a young Asian man in his late twenties. _Park Chanyeol, command module pilot_ , his nameplate said, above another American flag. The lights threw his features into sharp contrast, spotlighting every texture. Something jolted inside Baekhyun. He knew this man, and had met him before. He hadn’t been expecting to see a familiar face here. 

The interview began, starting with the commander and moving down the ranks. Baekhyun listened attentively, trying not to let his eyes wander. His chance arrived when the questioning finally reached the man, and he was free to study him along with the rest of the room. He was tall with longish blonde hair, dressed simply in an all-black suit. His voice was as Baekhyun remembered — dark like wine, warm and soothing, and yet he spoke in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

Soon after, workers stepped forward to usher the astronauts into the next room, segueing the reception into its next phase. Baekhyun rose to follow. By the time the last of the journalists had squeezed into the reception, Park Chanyeol was already at the far end of the room, exchanging comments with some of the VIPs. He smiled and laughed a lot, Baekhyun noticed, shaking hair out of his eyes. 

Baekhyun headed to the bar and asked for a drink. The barman poured it and handed it to him, not bothering with a single pleasantry. 

Two others stepped up to the bar next to him, deep in conversation, until one of them was called away by a worker. The remaining man asked for a martini, and the barman’s attitude was starkly different from what it’d been a minute ago. Curious, Baekhyun glanced sideways to see the only other Asian face from the press conference: Canadian mission specialist Kris Wu.

“Excuse me,” he said, and Kris looked up. “May I have a photograph? It’s for the Gazette.”

Kris agreed, and Baekhyun positioned the lens for the photo. The man leaned back against the counter, swirling his drink.

“I’m Baekhyun, space correspondent,” Baekhyun said. “I enjoyed your response earlier.”

“Thank you. It was a team effort.”

“I heard you’ll be serving as mission specialist again to _Mir_.”

“I will,” Kris said, surprise breaking through his deadpan face. “I didn’t think that was public knowledge.”

“Our readers are very passionate about the observation missions, I’ve had to follow pretty closely.” 

Kris didn’t let his confusion show. “The missions we have planned so far are mainly electrophysics-related, but I expect we’ll be continuing the previous team’s observatory work as well. So there should be some upcoming publications in the field.”

“Any satellite expeditions on the agenda?”

“Definitely. Some of them desperately need repair, we’ll be sending teams out.” Kris seemed to relax, as though he’d decided Baekhyun wasn’t a spy from a rival space program sent to infiltrate. “How long have you been following the World Space Program?”

“Since the start, pretty much.”

As they talked, Baekhyun kept an eye on the man at the far end of the room. He was still in conversation with guests and reporters. Moments later, Baekhyun looked up to see him stepping out through the French windows, following someone out to the verandah. 

He continued his conversation with Kris until someone came to intercept them, then picked up his drink and crossed the room. He sidled up to the wall and leaned against the drapes, sipping periodically from his flute, listening.

“You came back.” The speaker was female. From his position, Baekhyun couldn’t quite see their faces, but a quick backward look told him they were standing just slightly apart, hands clasped in between them.

“So I did.”

There was a brief pause. “I’m disappointed,” the woman was saying. “I expected our reunion to be somewhat more… enthusiastic.”

“Always was your biggest fault.” His tone was breezy; Baekhyun could almost hear the languid smile. Chanyeol lifted their clasped hands up to her cheek, and moments later he dropped her hand.

Baekhyun couldn’t hear her answer. Chanyeol was speaking again, his voice a low rumble. “What I want to know is, how did you get here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a private event after all.”

Again, Baekhyun couldn’t hear the response. It must have been short and quiet. Moments later, the lady walked back into the room, steps fast. Baekhyun waited a few seconds more before he straightened to walk away. He’d barely taken a step when someone abruptly collided with him, almost knocking him over, and he looked up to see Park Chanyeol.

Up close, he was disconcertingly tall. Now that he was no longer under the harsh spotlights, his skin was a warm, pale gold. He had the kind of lithe, golden ruggedness that Baekhyun attributed to children of the sun.

Chanyeol looked down at what he’d walked into. Their gazes met, and Baekhyun registered a pair of wide, yet shrewd eyes. There was a long beat of silence, much too close, before Chanyeol stepped back. 

“Sorry,” Chanyeol said, lightly. “I should’ve paid closer attention.”

Chanyeol’s gaze was fixated on something around his breast pocket. In response, Baekhyun reached up, swiftly tucking the pen into his coat.

“I’m fine,” Baekhyun said. “Don’t worry.”

Sharp eyes flicked up to meet Baekhyun’s. “Do we know each other?” Baekhyun could hear the unasked question: _Should I know you?_

“I doubt it,” Baekhyun said. “But if that’s your way of asking, I’m Baekhyun, journalist with the Gazette.”

“Here for first-hand scoop, then?” There was surface amusement in his tone, but his jaw was tight.

“That’s the idea.”

“Were you hoping to get it from me?” The question was loaded. There was a strange look in his eyes.

He was pushing. Baekhyun returned his studious gaze, restraining himself. “Not necessarily. I’d say that’s up to you.”

“Brilliant.” The man smiled for the first time — wide and boyish, yet calculated. “If you don’t mind, I’ll head off.”

He definitely seemed in a hurry to get away. He turned his back on Baekhyun and moved off, tapping someone he recognised on the shoulder and rejoining the circle he’d been standing with earlier. There had been some new additions to their group; eyes lit in recognition as they smiled, greeting and welcoming.

Baekhyun looked away, no longer interested. He had other fires to fight. The next time Chanyeol would look up to steal a wary glance in his direction, he would have already disappeared.

◆◇◆

On one of the mountains towards the north of the island stood an isolated monastery. 

A single gondola lift connected the grounds to the end of the road from Mars Bay, and sometimes the monks in their brown robes could be seen riding down to the bay to collect supplies and tapestry silk from their ship, trading in their intricately-woven tapestries to some elusive client. Visitors could ride the gondola free of charge, but visitors were few and far between, and those with interest fewer still. For the most part, the monastery kept to itself in sequestered solitude.

Standing at the edge of the summit, Baekhyun’s senses were assaulted by the sheer power spread out beneath him — this land was wild and the ourea were stronger here than just about anywhere he’d been. The monastery behind him was quiet, courtyard empty but for piles of fallen leaves, stirred into loose vortexes by the wind. Oxygen was thin at that altitude, but he sensed something heavy in the air, like a shadow obstructing the flow of energy. 

Beneath the steady blow of wind, there was the quiet sound of machinery coming to life. Glancing towards the slope, he noticed steel cable running through the pulleys. Someone was coming up the mountain.

Ten minutes later the gondola slid into the terminal, and out climbed the person Baekhyun had expected to see — the man from the conference, Park Chanyeol. Catching sight of Baekhyun, he walked fast as he approached his direction, the bottom of his light blazer blowing out in the wind.

He stopped several feet away, and Baekhyun was struck again by the conspicuous, forceful energy that aged his youthful features. His gaze was hostile. “Did you follow me up here?” 

He was lucky Baekhyun could tolerate a little impertinence. “If you’ll notice, I was here before you.”

“Why are you still on Ascension, then? Do you have anything to say to me?” the man said, not missing a beat. He was still staring with those insolent eyes, standing with both hands disrespectfully shoved into his pockets. “I thought I was finished with prophecies and running around for the gods. That’s what they told me, the last time.”

“Rest assured I have good reasons for being here, like keeping a hold on astronomy,” Baekhyun said. “You had nothing to do with it.”

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow, unsmiling. “Really then? Best news I’ve heard all day.” He turned to scan around them. They were alone but for the endless sprawl of green and the silent stone monastery. “And this monastery is of particular interest to you?”

Baekhyun nodded. “Yeah. Mysterious sort of place, isn’t it? I came to look around.”

“Blasphemous, is it not? The ascension of Jesus to the right hand of God?”

“There’s nothing incompatible about us and religion.” Amusement tugged at the corners of Baekhyun’s lips. “And you? What brought on this monastery visit?”

Chanyeol looked as though he didn’t want to respond. But he started walking, and Baekhyun followed, hovering a couple steps behind. “Nothing important. I wanted to take a look at the launchpad. And I thought I saw something up here, couple days back…”

His sentence trailed off as he picked up the pace, heading to the opposite end of the outlook. Slowly, the basin came into view, white communications dishes scattered across the landscape. They could still see the launchpad — albeit from a much greater distance than the viewing gallery, obscured partially by orographic cloud emanating from Green Mountain. 

At that moment, a bell rang from somewhere behind, and they both turned to look. 

Rows of brown-robed figures were emerging from the refectory doors, walking across the cloister. As Baekhyun’s eyes narrowed in on them, one of the larger figures stiffened under his robe, and a chill ran over his skin. Slowly, the monk turned to look straight at him — only there was no human form beneath the robe, just a shadowy form with blackened blue skin and deep hollows for eyes. 

A cold breeze seemed to sweep across the courtyard. Chanyeol glanced at Baekhyun, gaze pointed. 

“It’s a eurynomos,” Baekhyun informed him. 

“I know. I think it’s what I saw here, days ago.” He eyed the monster. “Gonna do something about it?”

Baekhyun thought about it for half a second. “Don’t think so. It’s not after me. And as we agreed, I probably should stay out of your business.”

The ghoul separated from the pack and drifted towards them, stained robes hanging off its skeletal frame. The look of disbelief on Chanyeol’s face morphed to irritation as Baekhyun backed away slowly. He swore under his breath, but Baekhyun could hear every word. He had to suppress a grin.

The odour of festering flesh reached them before the ghoul was five feet away. _Hermes brought a meal?_ Its vocalisation was like the screech of tearing metal.

“He might as well have,” Chanyeol replied calmly, standing his ground. “But you could always turn it down. You must have your pick of the lot, haven’t you?

The eurynomos laughed, a horrible warbling sound. _I can’t eat the monks fully or they would become skeleton warriors and the others would notice. I have to stop halfway every time so they stay zombies. With you I can feed all I want._

“Must be hard,” Chanyeol said. 

_It is_ , the eurynomos answered. _Thank you for understanding._

Without warning it lunged forwards, white claws unsheathing from under its cloak. Chanyeol rolled towards the barrier, narrowly avoiding being sliced. The eurynomos slammed into the parapets, smashing right through the stone which crumbled down the side of the mountain. Pulling himself into a crouch, Chanyeol tapped his signet ring which expanded into a bronze shield, deflecting a second assault.

Something dropped out of his pocket, clattering against the rock. Baekhyun saw Chanyeol snatch up what looked like a folding pocketknife, and the next moment a crossbow appeared in his hands, arrow already notched.

Chanyeol jumped onto the parapet, the agility looking somehow misplaced on someone in a oversized linen blazer and slacks. He aimed the crossbow. The eurynomos charged, but before it could reach him a celestial bronze bolt embedded itself into the centre of its sternum. One last wail hung in the air as it crumbled to dust and a pile of soiled robes.

Over by the arches, several of the other monks were walking towards them, moving stiffly like they had a severe case of arthritis.

“There are more coming,” Baekhyun warned, casual. “It’s the vrykolakai.”

Chanyeol didn’t respond, shoulders still heaving with effort as he stepped off the parapet and sheathed the crossbow. He fiddled with something in his pocket, and a regular bow appeared in his hands, quiver slung over his shoulders. Baekhyun always enjoyed watching the children of Apollo shoot, and paid close attention as Chanyeol calmly notched arrow after arrow, each finding its mark with surgical precision. In less than ten seconds, the zombie squad was another pile of fabric sitting in the middle of the courtyard. Baekhyun wondered how the other monks would reconcile the mysterious disappearance of five colleagues who’d inexplicably decided to leave their robes behind.

Chanyeol flicked the pocketknife again, and the bow disappeared. He looked over at Baekhyun. “Having fun?”

“You handled it pretty well on your own.”

“No thanks to you.” He was covered in monster dust, but made no move to sweep it off. His expression was wary, rather than annoyed. Baekhyun couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

In all that time, the oblivious monks had only just made it to the opposite end of the courtyard, and the last of them was stepping into the church. They were once again alone on the wide open summit.

“Did Apollo give that to you?” Baekhyun motioned at the pocketknife. “Odd choice of disguise. Seems like it’d be a pain getting through spaceflight security.”

Chanyeol looked up, but Baekhyun didn’t wait for a reply. Laughing now, he took several steps back and dematerialised, leaving behind nothing but footprints in the dust. 

◆◇◆

Baekhyun remembered some moments of his millennia clearer than others. Memory threads got confusing when they were consolidated from all his multiple forms, coexisting sometimes simultaneously — the Fates seemed to cross the same threads over and over, looping time back on itself. After a while, episodes blurred into impressions, stories and dynasties shifting like sand. It became difficult to distinguish one war from another insurgency, one kingdom from an empire.

But this particular period was one of those clear ones.

Rome was prospering. It lavished its wealth on temples of uncontested grandeur, and one of them was built in his honour in in the Circus Maximus, between the Aventine and Palatine Hills. Every day they lit braziers and burned sacrifices to him, drawing him naturally to this source of power. Trade, travel and commerce flourished as he spent more time on the ground with the people. They didn’t know who he was, but many gravitated towards him. The identity he favoured was that of a fortune teller patronised by Mercury, who could bestow blessings of safety on travellers-to-be before they departed on their journeys.

Many of the gods had taken up semi-permanent forms then, living day-to-day integrated into the community. Among them, Baekhyun was one of the best at concealing his divinity — he wasn’t showy or aggressive like some of his siblings, preferring to let his power slip through only when he wanted to make an impression. As he assimilated into Roman life, he naturally became a patron of the munera. That had been where he’d seen Chanyeol for the first time.

The grandstands overflowed with raucous crowds, a disorderly mess of shouting and tripping over each other and drinking from flasks of mulsum and calda. The arena was lined with flags emblazoned with large coats of arms, school insignias rippling as the air-horn blared to signal the first battle. The boy had stepped into the arena, a young fighter of no more than nineteen or twenty, face concealed beneath a Corinthian helmet, armed with the twin scimitars of the _Dimaechari_. At the opposite end of the ring, identical doors swung open to reveal his opponent — a gladius and shield-bearing _Hoplomachus_. 

He had been a gladiator — a conscripted prize fighter, a glorified slave.

Baekhyun watched from the back of the stands as the boy advanced boldly, a slight tremor in his arms, until they met in the middle and began to strike. He was noticeably lighter and more agile than his opponent, having scant armour on apart from his helmet, but his rival was well guarded and would probably tire slower. They fought aggressively for some time, and it became clear that the _Dimaecharus_ was a superior combatant. Before long, his opponent had called for a _missio_ and surrendered, sent alive from the ring while the boy raised his swords high in triumph. Even behind the helmet, there was a jauntiness in his manner and a heated charisma that warmed the audience to him — the cheers were some of the loudest Baekhyun had heard.

Still, the games alone had not made a deep impression on him. Strong fighters were a dime a dozen in Rome, living and dying by the day. Cloaked in head-to-toe armour and greaves, they all took on a kind of anonymity in the ring. It was from the gladiator school districts on the city outskirts that Baekhyun remembered him most clearly from. He was drawn to the area, along with the thousands of others who passed through its roads each day on their carriages — varied and vibrant crowds of wealthy sponsors and munus editors come to patronise, of school workers, combat trainers, and admirers.

Chanyeol had been entirely human in that life, but he was already touched with Apollo’s blessing. He’d become something of a local celebrity, known not only for skill in the arena but for the magic he weaved with Baekhyun’s instrument of invention, the lyre. In between his three to five events per year, he spent evenings playing on street corners or in the markets, and before he knew it, Baekhyun had become another one of his admirers, standing amongst the informal street crowds to listen to him play. His entire demeanour changed; gone was the cocky young warrior, in his place a humble musician playing with virtuosity and deep sentimentality. Eventually, Baekhyun approached him, unable to help himself. He told Chanyeol who he was, gave him his blessing in the form of a magic bronze lyre. Chanyeol had accepted it with all of the right deference and none of the skepticism.

But then a prophecy was spoken, and the Fates decreed that Chanyeol’s time was limited. Baekhyun was not allowed to interfere — it went against the most ancient of rules.

After that, he mostly kept himself away. Between the restrictions of gladiator life and knowledge of his impending fate, Baekhyun never really got to know him. But his inexplicable fascination with the boy continued. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to deprive himself of watching Chanyeol from far, to see him skip and quiver his fingers over the strings, listen to the strum of heaven-sent melancholy, and watch firelight flickering in his eyes next to the campfire.

◆◇◆

Baekhyun continued to track them from afar. The spacewalkers were travelling across countries, holding public press conferences and gracing exhibition openings like celebrities on tour. The space race was more heated than ever, but it was as though everyone had put aside their competitiveness for this one world program, in a show of solidarity for humanity. Publicity stunt or political statement, it achieved its desired effect of driving people across the world into a space frenzy.

There was no reason for Baekhyun to have to attend every event, but a month later they arrived right on his doorstep in New York City and he couldn’t help himself. This time the planetarium they were opening was in midtown Manhattan — all he had to do was take the lift down the Empire State and walk a few blocks, and there he was, standing on the red carpet alongside nine other men and women.

The direct area surrounding the museum was cordoned off for guests, but a massive crowd of space fanatics swarmed the surrounding streets, making it impossible to get near. Baekhyun shifted to shadow as he slid through townhouses and re-formed before the red carpet, arriving in time to see the commander cut the ribbon to an audience of flashing cameras.

The guests, officials and press began to enter the planetarium. Baekhyun kept the Mist wrapped around him as he followed, walking unquestioned into a dark corridor painted in hues of navy and indigo, decorated with halogen light clusters in an imitation of the galaxy. The walls were papered with blown-up articles depicting a brief timeline of space exploration, and he read the titles as he passed them.

“Venus soil samples: What’s growing out there?”

“JUNE 1963. First woman on the space station.”

“Continuing the Space Crusade with Man’s first spacecraft beyond Neptune.”

“AUGUST 1984: Man walks free. First untethered spacewalk.” That last one was accompanied by a giant blown up photo of the dream team, smiling in their spacesuits with their landing shuttle conspicuously occupying the backdrop. 

He found the group easily, keeping a distance behind as they were given a guided tour of the gallery. For the first twenty minutes, Chanyeol was engaged with a steady stream of interviewers. Baekhyun probably should’ve waited, but with a quick extension of the Mist he pulled Chanyeol out of the remaining journalists’ view, and walked up, camera in hand.

Chanyeol was looking at a model of the US space station. “Is it a realistic depiction?”

He turned around, unsurprised. “Hermes.”

“Use Baekhyun when I’m in this form.”

Chanyeol’s forehead creased, like he wasn’t sure what Baekhyun was doing there. “Do you always masquerade as a journalist?”

“I wouldn’t call it masquerading, these actually get published in Olympus Weekly. Gods want recognition for their impact on humanity.”

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. “... right.” He glanced up at the ceiling, clearly refraining from speaking his mind. “But yes, it’s realistic. This project was overseen by the station’s engineers, they mentioned it in the tour.”

They moved on to the next exhibit, which was a collection of machine parts and a holographic poster of a ringed column extending straight out the atmosphere, projecting towards the moon. Its billboard was labelled: “Carbon Nanotubes and Space Elevators: Interplanetary travel of the future?”

“Must be an exciting time to be in astronautics,” Baekhyun said. “Everyone full of wild ideas, everything coming to fruition in such a short space of time.”

Chanyeol nodded. “It is.” His manner seemed less tense, less defensive than before. “So, you’re here to keep up with the news again?” he asked. 

Baekhyun had earlier deliberated over what answer to give. “Actually, I was in town and wondered if you wanted to go for a drink.”

“Seriously?” He sounded skeptical, but took it in stride. “I think they expect me to go to the afterparty.”

“Do you want to go?” He relaxed the Mist, letting Chanyeol slip out from its cover.

“Hell no. I’m at my limit with the social networking.”

“Then I can probably help you out.” 

To their right, the team’s temporary manager was walking towards them. He tapped Chanyeol on the shoulder, looking past Baekhyun like he couldn’t see him — which he couldn’t. “Excuse me, Mr Park, you’re wanted in the front.”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. The window of air between them shimmered like a mirage. 

“Chanyeol’s had a family emergency here in the city,” he said. Chanyeol looked at him, apprehension in his features. “He’s had to leave. You won’t miss him, will you?”

The manager looked confused, but shook his head. “No, not at all.”

“Let the hosts know he apologises for his absence.”

“Will… will do.” 

Recovering remarkably quickly, the manager turned away and started towards his next target. Baekhyun spotted the familiar face of Kris Wu and quickly pulled the Mist back around himself.

“I could’ve just told him I wasn’t feeling well,” Chanyeol commented.

“Better to take the responsibility off of you, if he realises something was amiss he won’t remember speaking to you at all,” Baekhyun said. “Not that he should.”

“Well thanks, then.”

“You’re welcome. Shall we head out then?” Baekhyun asked. “Lead the way, I’m probably less familiar with the nightlife here.”

Chanyeol’s expression shifted from confused to incredulous, and he shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually want a drink. But if that’s really all, then okay, we could grab something. Come with me.”

That something ended up being hot chocolate, which they got in takeaway cups from a street cart in front of the Rockefeller. Chanyeol paid, remarking in mock outrage, “What kind of god doesn’t even pay for the date?”

All Baekhyun had on him was a pouch of drachmas. “Sorry, probably should’ve come prepared,” he said. And then inspiration struck. “But I might be able to fix that. Ever tried your hand at poker?”

Chanyeol looked up with some interest in his eyes. “Not with the god of thieves at my side.”

“Well the night’s young, and I’m bored. Let’s go do something fun.”

“Atlantic City?” Chanyeol assumed. “That’s some way away.”

“I know a fast mode of transport.” Baekhyun pointed towards the road. “Let’s go.”

“Hold up, can we at least finish our chocolate first?”

They perched on the steps in front of the Rockefeller rink, sipping as they watched the skaters glide past, a roundabout of excited peals of laughter and skates scratching the ice. 

Chanyeol was still quiet. As the minutes passed, his silence began to weigh on Baekhyun.

“Did you grow up here?” he asked finally, trying for a response.

“In the city?” Chanyeol shrugged, guarded. “Yeah. I mean, I went to boarding school here.”

There was a minefield there. “How did you get into the space program, then?”

“Pretty much the usual way, I think.” He seemed more at ease with the topic. “These things don’t happen by a stroke of luck. I did engineering and science in college. Worked for a bit, got an internship, did the training course.”

Unusual for a half-blood. Baekhyun was impressed. “That’s some feat. You must be really gifted.”

“Not really. I’m not the sort of person things come easy to — I just make it look easy.” He didn’t sound embarrassed, just matter-of-fact. “It was mostly a lot of blind faith and working like a dog for years on end.”

Baekhyun asked the natural question. “Why did you choose it, then? It could’ve been much easier if you went the usual way, honing your advantage.”

“I did consider the music route. Maybe I will do that someday, but this is something I wanted first.” He popped the lid off his cup, checking for remnants. “Getting to change jobs is one of the big advantages of mortality.”

“No need to rub it in.” Baekhyun glanced at Chanyeol and he smiled slightly, but didn’t continue. 

Baekhyun gave up. He’d find another way to loosen him up. They watched the skaters in silence until Baekhyun finished his chocolate and stood. “Let’s go. Ten minutes to Atlantic City.”

Chanyeol nodded, crumpling his cup as he rose from the steps. Baekhyun walked up to the curb, placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a leafy avenue behind the main hotel belt. “Wait,” Chanyeol panted, tripping on his way out of the Grey Sisters’ taxi. “Need to catch my breath.”

Under the streetlight, he was doubled over, arm bracing against the post. Baekhyun reached into his messenger bag and handed him a flask. “Nectar.”

Chanyeol took the flask. Moments later, he was upright again. “Where to?”

Baekhyun craned his head to look up, and Chanyeol followed his gaze. Across the street, behind a quiet park, loomed a grand, glittering hotel, a neon “CASINO” sign flashing above its gold-lettered name. 

A crease appeared on Chanyeol’s brow. “That wasn’t here a moment ago. Was it?”

“It’s a mortal casino,” Baekhyun promised, skirting the question. “Come on, let’s go.”

The casino entrance occupied the entire right side of the hotel lobby, fronted by garish kaleidoscopes of flashing lights and jingling slot machines designed to lure guests in. Inside, it was just starting to get crowded, casual hotel guests and rowdy partygoers filling up the closely-spaced tables. Tobacco smoke was thick in the air, mixing with something grassy and animalic, distracting from the trippy space-pop blaring from the speakers. 

Chanyeol left to put down money for chips while Baekhyun sized up the competition. A roulette table in the centre of the floor caught his eye, and a small crowd of players was starting to gather. He made his way across as Chanyeol returned with their tokens, and surveyed the table. Most of the other players had already taken their bets — the perimeter of the grid was dotted with them, with a couple odd chips placed between individual numbers.

Deciding to start easy, Baekhyun took a few from Chanyeol’s hands and placed them on the first column. 

It was Chanyeol’s turn. He hesitated, glancing at Baekhyun, then placed a thick stack of chips directly on number 4. Someone across the table whistled. Chanyeol grinned and raised a challenging eyebrow at Baekhyun, eyes gleaming for the first time that night.

“Alright, no more bets!” The croupier closed the table and the players moved to surround the roulette wheel. All eyes were focused on the croupier’s white-gloved hands as he spun the wheel and launched the ball. It skittered around the edge of the ring, slowing down and deflecting off a series of bumpers before rolling neatly into the number “4” slot.

Everyone at the table was staring at them, so Baekhyun decided to give them a reaction. He raised an eyebrow, giving Chanyeol a high-five. “Wow, some beginner’s luck, huh?” 

Chanyeol’s answering laugh wasn’t faked. “This is the first time I’ve won _anything_.” The croupier swept up the chips, calculating payouts. 

“Well remind me not to bet against you guys,” someone said as the croupier handed over a large bag of tokens. 

“We’re beginning the next round,” he informed them. He didn’t sound particularly welcoming.

“Better not push our luck just yet,” Baekhyun said, steering Chanyeol away from the table. He was still grinning, impressed. 

“Risky move. Didn’t think you’d take the bait.”

Baekhyun’s response died in his throat. He was right — he’d totally fallen for the bait. 

“Let’s get losing before they call the mortal cops on us,” he suggested. “Not an issue for me, but you probably don’t want a criminal record.”

They rotated around the tables, playing poker, baccarat, back to roulette, losing strategically while maintaining a large surplus. The games flew by in a blur of careful eye contact, gloved dealer’s hands against green-topped tables, glossy red and black cards and the clatter of multicoloured tokens. Baekhyun didn’t know how much time had passed, but after some time a smiling manager came up to invite him over to the high rollers’ lounge, pointing towards a curtained area near the rear of the casino. He felt Chanyeol’s hand on his arm, chips heavy in his pocket, and could barely hear his own voice over the music as he nodded yes.

The air seemed to shift as they stepped past the tasselled curtains. This room was a lot more restrained, dim and decadent in decor, devoid of loud bachelor’s parties or grating electronic music. A quick glance around told Baekhyun there was only one table per game, and that their lavish brocade armchairs were almost uniformly occupied by suited, cigar-smoking men. 

“Any game plan?” Chanyeol asked, as the manager left them.

Baekhyun shrugged. “Trust me and bet big.”

They breezed over to the poker table, taking the last two seats to complete a table of seven. They were playing regular Texas Hold’em, and the white-gloved dealer shuffled the cards and dealt two per player, sending them flying across the table with uncanny aim. 

Baekhyun watched Chanyeol’s expression as he checked his cards before picking up his own. Acquiring money was one of Baekhyun’s abilities that came naturally to him — beyond his ability to read cards, he didn’t even need to think about it. If he wanted to be lucky, he’d be lucky. They sailed through several rounds, playing it safe at first, interspersing losses with a few low-key victories.

Several rounds in, the boredom began to get stifling. Baekhyun had A♠️ and K♠️ in hand, and the three community cards were face-up on the table — 10♠️, Q♥️, Q♠️. He could angle for a flush or even straight flush. There was a fair chance someone else would have a full house with two queens on the table, and they would probably be confident enough to raise against him. Sure enough, Baekhyun mentally reached across the table to visualise what Chanyeol had — 10♦️ and 10♥️, full house.

Seated at the end of the table, Chanyeol was the first to play. “A hundred.”

The other players took turns, all checking. The woman playing fourth and the man at sixth had good hands for the round — she had 6♦️ and Q♣️, while he had 8♠️ and J♠️. There would be no royal flush for Baekhyun. Their anticipation was so strong it was almost choking him as he sat between them.

The dealer burned a card and flipped open the next. 9♠️.

Player 4 raised the bet. She wasn’t confident, but wanted to bluff her way into the final round. There was still hope for a full house.

It was Baekhyun’s turn. “Call.”

“Call,” The man at player 6 said, and the next few players followed suit. The remainder folded, and the dealer swept their tokens up before burning another card.

Six, Baekhyun thought. The last community card was flipped up: 6♥️.

The players’ cards were all face-down against the table while the bets continued around the table, starting from Chanyeol. “Raise another hundred,” he said, adding to his bet, and the woman next to Baekhyun matched him. 

Baekhyun looked at his cards, face-down against the table. “Fold,” he said, pushing his cards towards the dealer. Chanyeol threw him a look, and Baekhyun grinned slightly in response. 

Player 6 raised to five hundred, certain that nobody could beat him at this point. 

The remaining players folded, including Chanyeol, who caught Baekhyun’s eye as he did so.

Baekhyun looked at the four cards still face-down on the table, two on either side of him. Switch 6♦️ with 8♠️, he thought. It would leave her with a triple Q, and him with nothing. 

They raised the bets one last time, stacking the towers of blue chips in front of them. Finally, with neither backing down, the dealer flipped the cards to reveal her hand.

Player 4 stared at her cards in disbelief, mouth gaping, as though she was about to say something. Oblivious, the dealer moved on to Player 6’s. He didn’t even notice the change at first, still looking at his opponent’s cards, smirking at his assumed victory. Around the table, the rest of the players stared at the bad hands in shock at their combined audacity.

“Wait—” she began.

“The lady at station 4 takes the win.” The dealer began sweeping up the chips.

She registered the comment belatedly, closing her mouth immediately while her opponent had realised the discrepancy in his hand and risen to his feet in anger. “You set this up.”

Baekhyun met Chanyeol’s amused gaze across the table, suppressing laughter. 

The lady quickly rearranged her features into a mask of incredulity. “Excuse me?”

“I had eight of spades. Somehow you must’ve switched the cards.”

She looked around the table as though she hadn’t been equally shocked by her own hand. “Do you hear this guy? Look, you read your damn cards wrong.”

He cut her off. “I demand a rewind of the tapes.” 

The dealer looked on passively, as though he’d already seen this ten times that day. At the end of the table, Chanyeol had managed to catch a manager’s eye and was motioning for help. 

She put her hands up. “You can review them all you want, I’ve done nothing.” She didn’t sound too sure of himself.

Security arrived with the manager, flanking him as he headed straight to the dealer for the story. The dealer spoke to him quickly, whispering in his ear, before he turned to face the angry man. “Is there a problem here?”

“There’s been tampering with the cards,” the man said, attempting to sound calm. “This player has switched these cards” — he pointed to the two in question — “and removed my winning hand, cheating me of a large sum of money. I want to request an investigation.”

“Say I did somehow have the means to switch two cards across the table with everyone watching,” the lady said. “How would I know what your hand was? I’d be destroying my own hand in doing so, wouldn’t I?”

“She’s had an accomplice.” The man looked at the dealer. “The cards were switched during the reveal. I demand that you investigate this accordingly or I will be pursuing legal settlement.” 

“Alright. Judging from the story so far, there is no reason to suspect foul play,” the manager said, placating. “We can review the tapes in isolation if you wish to make a formal report, but I will have to ask you to stop accusing the lady or security will have to escort you out.”

Chanyeol had been watching the situation unfold with mild amusement. Next to him the dealer sat back in his chair, idly shuffling the deck. 

It didn’t look like the next round would be starting anytime soon. Baekhyun rose from his seat and tilted his head towards the exit, signalling Chanyeol to follow. They slid out of the lounge as the debate continued, making their way to the arcades. There they attacked the slot machines, Chanyeol dropping a pile of tokens and cranking the lever while Baekhyun looked on, willing good luck to reach them. The wheels spun wildly, fruits and numbers blurring together as the music jingled and then slowed. And then the scatter fell in line — five “7”s, lined up in a row. Chanyeol’s mouth fell open. “What the fuck?”

Their machine exploded with a deafening burst of music and flashing lights. The ticker sped up, letters racing past. “JACKPOT! JACKPOT! JACKPOT!”

Money splashed onto the ground. It poured, and poured and splashed, and Baekhyun felt giddy. Chanyeol doubled over laughing, and Baekhyun caught the laughter, exploding till he could no longer stand. The entire carousel was watching them, but Baekhyun didn’t care. 

“If Fortuna could see me now,” Baekhyun said, giggling so hard tears began streaming from his eyes. “She never did like me. Said I cheated too much.”

The laughter seemed to drain the inhibition from Chanyeol’s face, filling his eyes with a gleam that toed the line between exhilaration and madness. Their eyes met with a jolt of electricity as he scooped Baekhyun up into his arms, and Baekhyun was unable to look away, realising through a small window of awareness that he was in deeper trouble than ever before. 

The next minutes felt unusually cloudy, but Baekhhyun barely noticed. Somehow they moved into the back of the casino, where a dark mirrored corridor with neon lights tunnelled into the hotel nightclub. And then they were on the dancefloor, at the bar, taking shots that a group of girls on a hen night bought for them. Chanyeol threw them back like they were water, but Baekhyun’s head started swimming after two. He’d never been the party animal of the gang — he’d gone to one Dionysus party, about a thousand years ago, and decided he never wanted a repeat. As he danced he started to stagger, unable to hold his balance, and was shoved about in five different directions before landing hard on the floor.

It was crowded in the room and the combined energy felt like a hive mind, pushing the limits of frenzy straight into uncomfortable territory. Maybe that was what flipped the switch and cleared Baekhyun’s mind, enabling him to see past the fog. As he stood to look, bracing himself against the bar for support, most of the room looked well beyond the point of inebriation, like they had outright lost their minds. The groups clustered around the low tables were definitely puffing at something stronger than nicotine, but they looked the most normal of everyone. 

It was the people on the elevated stage that were the most far gone. There were easily a hundred people crammed onto a tiny platform, whirling and screaming, periodically throwing people down into the crowd below. The looks on their faces were bone-chilling — eyes were rolled in rapture or dilated in ecstasy, mouths open horrifically wide, contorted in madness. There was a DJ behind the turntable, and as Baekhyun watched, a group of girls dressed identically in silk slips and vicious high-heeled boots moved up to join him, passing around a bottle of champagne and drinking straight from it. They were the group who had bought them shots earlier. One of them draped herself across the DJ’s shoulders, and the next moment, his head was ripped cleanly off his body, a crown of blood splattering across the soundboard, bone and gristle and flesh bulging out of the severed neck.

The Maenad sank her teeth into his skull, ripping off a chunk and chewing. The others descended upon the still-twitching body like vultures, tearing it limb to limb and fighting over the pieces. Around them the crowd kept dancing, completely sunk into oblivion, unseeing and unhearing. To Baekhyun’s horror, Chanyeol was among them, mere metres away. He was as lost as the others, still drunk on whatever alchemical hysteria the Maenads had spiked their drinks with.

Most of the Maenads were feasting on the raw corpse, teeth and faces glistening with blood. The ones that hadn’t been able to get a slice rose from the body, redirecting their gaze towards Chanyeol. He was the next victim in line, and in his state wouldn’t be able to defend himself if the Maenads strolled up to him head-on from a hundred yards away. 

Energy surged through Baekhyun’s body, stripping whatever toxicity had been festering there, and fast as light, he teleported across the room, blocking Chanyeol from them. “Get lost. This one’s not for you.”

The Maenad’s lip curled. “Lord Dionysus will not be happy that you’ve taken our sacrifice.”

Again, he found himself getting flung around by a crowd of jostling bodies. Someone tried to pick him up, but Baekhyun rooted himself to the ground, driving the crowd away. “I don’t give a fuck. Stand down or go back to Tartarus.” His guard raised, the caduceus was called empathically to his hands. He glanced behind him, making sure none of the other Maenads were advancing.

Chanyeol was no longer there. Panic seizing him, Baekhyun spun around to see that he’d been picked up and was getting tossed onto the human roof of the dancefloor. In that moment, the Maenads launched themselves through the air towards Chanyeol, and without thinking, as quick as instinct, Baekhyun vaporised them with a blast from the caduceus. Chanyeol’s landing was cushioned by a crowd who managed to quickly skirt out of the way, and Baekhyun sprinted down towards him, to get him out of the way before he got trampled underfoot.

The madness receded tangibly as the Maenads were destroyed, like a veil lifting. It would take the club a while to get back to normal, for all the substance to get eliminated from their bloodstreams and the record to finish playing with no DJ to start a new track. They would find, among other things, remnants of a dismembered corpse, but the Mist would make up a cover story.

Once safely outside on the pavement, Baekhyun rifled through his bag, pulling out a series of bottles and mixing a quick detoxifying elixir into a flask. He tried to balance Chanyeol’s body as he dragged his head onto his lap. How had those manic clubgoers managed to toss such a heavy person? He needed a bigger physical form to deal with this.

Chanyeol’s eyes fluttered open when Baekhyun tipped the potion into his mouth. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “Rest.”

Chanyeol was still groggy, and he shut his eyes again, breathing deeply and slowly.

They stayed that way, resting until the full effects of the elixir had sunk in and Chanyeol was fully awake and able to get to his feet. Baekhyun offered to call the Grey Sisters, but Chanyeol insisted on a regular taxi back, claiming his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle anything more.

“Do you remember what happened?” Baekhyun asked, as they walked back to the taxi stand.

Chanyeol nodded. “Some of it is blurry, but yeah. Thanks for not leaving me to get eaten this time.”

“I knew you could handle one eurynomos, but a whole pack of Maenads was probably pushing it.” He smirked. “Plus you badly needed to be put in your place.”

Chanyeol held up both hands, grinning. “Okay. Point taken.” He seemed to have something else on his mind. “But how were you affected by them, too?”

Baekhyun looked away. “Sometimes I lose myself too fully to the form. Start forgetting to pay attention. Irresponsible of me, but it helps me feel more human.” Chanyeol was quiet. “I hope you had fun tonight?” 

“We didn’t even collect our winnings.”

“You were a millimeter away from getting eaten alive.” 

“Oh, that was definitely the best part.”

“And honestly, who knows what they would’ve done if we tried collecting that much money from them.”

Chanyeol laughed. “I had fun, even if I’m considerably poorer from paying for your night out. You’d best be planning on making it up to me.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation.” They arrived at the taxi stand, walking to the front of the line, and an attendant ran out to flag one down.

“An invitation to what?” Within a minute, a taxi turned into the driveway, and he turned back to face Baekhyun, features carefully devoid of any emotion. 

He was making him spell it out on purpose. “To see you again,” Baekhyun said. Chanyeol smiled, though whether out of happiness or some kind of satisfaction, Baekhyun couldn’t tell. “Safe trip back to New York.”

“See you, Baekhyun.” It was the first time he’d called him by name. 

Baekhyun watched Chanyeol get into the cab, pulling the door shut, his parting smile still seared into his vision. And then it drove off, taillights fading as it raced down the highway. 

◆◇◆

It was a rare sunny winter’s day. Warm afternoon rays filled courtyards, washing through sparkling fountains and lush ornamental hedges. Baekhyun walked through the wide boulevards and palatial white buildings of the country’s government district, where every successive block was a grander display of ostent and wealth. He was headed for the eastern edge of St James’. To his left, fifty feet away, was a shaded colonnade, the few people standing within cast in shade and haloed in backlight. 

The sight of him emerging from under the column filled Baekhyun with a thrill of excitement. He walked with long, quick strides that were almost frantic, but the endless long lines of his form gave him a lofty nonchalance in stillness or movement. He saw Baekhyun approaching, but registered only a faint smile as Baekhyun strolled up to intercept him. “Hey, I have a task for you.”

“Hey.” Chanyeol kept his eyes ahead, speaking as though he knew the answer. “What is it?”

Baekhyun suppressed a smile. “Spend the evening with me.”

He grinned and kept walking. “Is that it?”

“And drink with me.”

“Alright then, you’ve convinced me.” Chanyeol abruptly stopped walking, turned and threw an arm over Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Where shall we go? More hot chocolate?”

“Somewhere with good music.” Baekhyun sneaked a glance up, and saw a dimpled cheek. 

“You’re in luck — I know a place.”

“Then walk me there. It’s early, we’ve got time.” Baekhyun leaned comfortably into his arm as they walked, committing the feeling to memory. “How was your day?”

Chanyeol shrugged. “Alright. Mainly meetings at the Royal Astronomical Society. They didn’t give us too much trouble about the upcoming mission.”

“No difficult demands, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll be serving as mission specialist this time.” Baekhyun could hear the excitement in his voice. “Any ideas you want to plant into my head, for the future of astrophysics?”

“Like I’d let you take the credit. I’ve already set the machinations in place to make Kris Wu the next mission commander.”

“You really like Kris, don’t you?” Chanyeol laughed.

He actually deigned to speak to me at the press conference, Baekhyun thought. “Jealous?”

“Nah. Knew you had a thing for tall, standoffish men.”

“Wonder what I’m doing with you then.” He resolutely quashed the embarassment that followed Chanyeol’s laughter.

They left the pavilion and headed into the park, crossing diagonally towards downtown. There was a parade there for Remembrance Day, tailed by a marching band playing a familiar march. A golden lion prowled in front of the carriages, completely out of sync with the rest of the procession. From the lack of gawking, the Mist had to be at play. 

As the sun set, the dimming light cocooned the pedestrians in darkness and incognito, and they were just one of hundreds of anonymous couples enjoying a slow weekend walk. They walked in quiet harmony, under the muted purple sky, through the leaf-littered streets, like puddles of burnt ochre under the streetlights. The road let on to a departmental store, its storefront covered in a thicket of bushes like a magical garden, a million fairy lights strung up across the canopy — a prelude to the festive season. In the granite corridors, the chords of Last Christmas echoed against the walls. Chanyeol sang along, his voice low and soothing.

The night was so perfect, Baekhyun wanted to make sure they weren’t disturbed. He caught sight of some empousai roaming the street in a gaggle of high-heeled clubgoers — no doubt looking for unsuspecting men or demigods to feed on — but with one look at Baekhyun, they kept well away. The city was brimming with the influence of art, and Baekhyun could sense it calling to him in the air. He gazed up at a rooftop bar, where a singer in a glittering sequin dress was performing, scattering sweet song into the sky. She caught his eye and smiled, and Baekhyun’s eyes lit in recognition.

“There’s the place.” Chanyeol gestured at the rooftop. “Their live music is worthy of any Olympian.”

“You’ve been there before?”

“Once. Long time ago, on a quest. Have you?”

“Not this bar. But London, of course. Always someone wanting a delivery.”

They arrived before a flight of stairs, where a uniformed bouncer guarded the entrance under cursive signage reading “ _The Meadow_ ”. “ID?”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. “I’m older than you need to know. And he’s ten years legal.”

“All in order.” The bouncer tipped his hat at them, winking as he pulled the rope aside. “Have fun up there.”

Chanyeol looked disgruntled. “I can’t believe I still get ID’d at twenty-eight.”

“I’m pretty sure he was worried about me, not you.”

They climbed the stairs, arriving at an indoor lounge on the third floor. Wide doors on either side opened out to open-air decks, furnished with deckchairs clustered around patio heaters.

Baekhyun paid the cover charge, to Chanyeol’s amusement. The hostess took their coats and guided them to a sofa seat, where they lay for a while, soaking in the music, Baekhyun sinking slowly into his position against his chest, making himself at home. Euterpe had just started a new song, a slow quiet storm. Her arms were raised above her head, moving slowly in time with the melisma of her voice and shift of light against her spangled dress. 

“Which quest were you on, that last time you came here?”

He could feel Chanyeol’s hand in his hair, gently and hypnotically playing with the strands. “It was a rescue mission. Artemis was captured in Ephesus.”

“Sounds something Apollo would assign.”

“He didn’t, not directly. We flew across the Atlantic, and from Southampton we sailed on the Sunbeam. Joohyun — daughter of Ares — was quest leader. We came here to look for the maiden who would tell us the song we needed.”

“Euterpe?” His eyes darted to where she was performing at the edge of the terrace.

“Yeah.” Chanyeol’s eyes were lost in thought, reminiscing. “She didn’t make it easy, either. She wanted some hefty payment, and a couple of us faced down the Crocotta.”

Baekhyun knew the monster. He’d sent heroes after it, a shadowy creature with the body of a stag, a lion's neck, cloven hooves, that called men by name at night in human voices. 

“The temple was right by the sea, fronted by towering pylons. As though it’d been reconstructed, in marble and stone, just from the collective force of belief.” Chanyeol paused. “I think that’s probably the moment when I actually realised how important what were doing was. Keeping both worlds in check, keeping the light burning.”

The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, his arm draped across Baekhyun’s shoulder and chest, revealing a series of forearm tattoos. Baekhyun traced them absently. “Did you meet Apollo on that quest?”

“He appeared for a minute when Artemis was freed. It was probably the most anticlimactic thing I’d ever experienced.”

Concern crept into Baekhyun’s voice. “How did you feel?” 

“Lonelier, I think. Once it was over.” He said it blithely, but his voice faltered. “But I’ve made peace with it.”

“It’s not easy having an immortal family,” Baekhyun said. “Even I struggle with it sometimes, and I’ve had thousands of years to resign myself to it.”

Chanyeol was quiet. “Can’t have everything, I guess.” 

Baekhyun peeked up at his face. His eyes were still distracted, but thankfully, there was no unhappiness on his features.

He pushed himself up, and extended a hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Chanyeol took it, and Baekhyun led them out to the roof. The night was still blissfully clear, dancing couples spread across the floor, air fragrant with romance. The music had shifted to a gentle acoustic breakdown, spotlighting Euterpe’s lilting, crystal-clear voice. Next to Baekhyun, a woman had her head against her partner’s chest; they stood perfectly still in the music, lost in themselves.

Baekhyun placed a hand on Chanyeol’s outstretched palm, the other reaching up to hold onto his arm. 

“You’d better lead,” Chanyeol said, eyes locked on Baekhyun’s. “I’m sure you’re much better at this than I am.”

Baekhyun obliged, holding eye contact as he tensed his frame and began to steer. “I definitely haven’t danced with anyone who doesn’t know how.”

The skin around Chanyeol’s eyes crinkled. “I don’t believe you. All those years?”

Nymphs and minor gods would take offence at such a suggestion. “It’s not actually very often that we can find a human to stand equal to.”

At this pronouncement, Chanyeol was quiet for a brief moment, still watching Baekhyun. Then he smiled — wickedly, disarmingly handsome. “Is that so?”

“Don’t let that get to your head.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

Baekhyun smirked as he finally broke eye contact and pushed them backwards, towards the edge of the deck. “How about you focus on not stepping on my feet?”

They kept dancing as the song changed, accompanied this time by the scorching croon of electric guitar. Baekhyun watched the couples around them as they moved, gaze skipping from the bar under its central umbrella, to the windows and backlit figures on the block across the street, to the rows of rooftops crowded with friends and lovers. 

_I've been meaning to tell you  
I've got this feeling that won't subside_

The influence of Euterpe had emotion thick in the air. The people were jubilant, wistful, torn, heartbroken, moving through the facets of mortal emotions that snapped as easily as their lives — passively aware but unbothered that this moment would never come again for any of them. Baekhyun thought of a boy from many, many years ago, whose life thread had snapped before its time. Then he felt the weight of Chanyeol’s hands on his arms, and was overcome by a sudden wave of guilt, wondering if he was using this man to fulfil unrealised desires from a bygone life.

They were next to the railing now. He could sense Chanyeol’s gaze from above, and it drew his own upwards like a magnet to its pole. The unflinching way he was watching him made him uneasy, like he was somehow being trapped and held fast, unable to move.

When Baekhyun finally managed to tear his eyes away, it felt like catching his breath after holding it for as long as he could. It took him a few moments to realise they’d stopped dancing.

“Is something up?” he asked.

“I was just wondering what you looked so pensive about,” Chanyeol said lightly. “Almost like you were reminiscing something.”

“Like?”

He shrugged. “Like someone broke your heart, here in this city, and you’re thinking about how you’ll never love anyone like that again.” 

His choice of words made Baekhyun drop his gaze. “Sounds like you’re projecting.”

“I’ve had heartbreak. But I figured you’d have wilder stories, you’ve had an eternity for romance.”

Baekhyun couldn’t help but smile. “Eternity isn’t romance,” he said. “Eternity is passive boredom... and endless existential ennui.”

Chanyeol paused, and for a moment Baekhyun was seized by fear that he’d just pushed him away.

“Sorry, not buying it,” he said, decisive. “There’s got to be a reason you’re still here now.” He stepped closer to Baekhyun, and Baekhyun’s skin was tingling even before his hand came up to gently hold the side of his face, eyes never leaving his. “I think you’re capable of feeling as much as any of us. Joy and pain both.”

He was so close, so perfect. “I don’t know. Maybe.” A smile, maybe of relief, spread across Chanyeol’s face, and Baekhyun blurted, “Will you feel it too?”

It was a slip of insecurity, of self-indulgence. Nevermind the gladiator thousands of years ago — he was hopelessly charmed by the man that stood before him, weak for the look in those hungry eyes. The feelings racing through him were ungodly. 

Between them, the air felt charged, like it held within it its own microcosmic storm. The man was maddening and magnetic, his big eyes seeing through him, holding his universe, holding him mesmerised, as always. Then Chanyeol was leaning in, and their lips met, and his hands — warm, wide, worshipping — were in Baekhyun’s hair and on Baekhyun’s arms and the slope of his waist, touches burning and brilliant. The world had come to a standstill around them — or maybe it was wheeling recklessly away, isolating them on their own continuum of nothing but sky. He was intoxicating as the divine melody that filled his ears, recklessly taking and taking, and Baekhyun could see the stars falling around him — as though he had already surrendered his life, and become one of them.

◆◇◆

Baekhyun thought of himself as fortunate that his nature allowed him to still experience danger and excitement. Maybe it was the fact that for all his purported omnipotence, he was bound by strict rules that prevented him from playing fate. Those three omniscient old ladies kept them all in check. 

He remembered that day with startling clarity. He could visualise the acrid white summer light off the jasper, rays shifting as temple doors were opened by the goatskin-cloaks, the solemn hum of chanted prayer as his cult statues were anointed and presented with offerings. Through the gateway came the droves of worshippers, shoulders and heads dropping in respect as they passed between the peristyles into shaded vegetation, entering the temple grounds.

Several blocks away, by the gateless complex of the academy, groups of admirers were already lined up, awaiting the procession to leave for the amphitheatre. Baekhyun had been forbidden to see him. Evidently, Jupiter didn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately for him, Baekhyun had never felt truly restricted by orders — he’d slipped anyway, leaving a message for Chanyeol requesting a quick meeting in the academy courtyard, early in the morning before he got swept up in preparations for the parades and rituals of the biggest _munus_ of the year. 

Chanyeol waited for him under the colonnade as instructed. He turned as Baekhyun approached, innocence painted in his smile that came from not knowing any other life and not yet realising the injustice that had been handed to him. He was not even twenty-one, already one of the favourites to win, well on the way to earning his liberation.

Baekhyun was uncharacteristically lost for words. “I wanted to wish you good luck for your fight today.” He understood why Jupiter had ordered him to stay away. He was painfully close to blurting out what was about to happen, telling him to run far far away from the fight.

Chanyeol bowed in response. “Thank you, lord. Carrying your blessing, I will be more than fine.”

Baekhyun’s chest twisted painfully. “Who is your opponent today?”

“I have two battles. A ceremonial lion fight, then single duel against Kim Jongin.” He named a young _Secutores_ , one of the other rising favourites. 

Baekhyun paused, a sudden sense of urgency taking hold. “I must tell you before you go.” The words came out in a rush. “Whatever the outcome later, you’d have done me a great pride. I will always be your patron.” He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t been too overt.

But Chanyeol — so naive, so sure of himself — had only nodded. “Don’t worry, I will show you another victory.”

“I would not bet otherwise.” Baekhyun tried for a smile. “Go join the preparations. I’ll be watching later.”

“Thank you, lord Mercury.” He bowed again and took Baekhyun’s extended hand, grasping it firmly within a coarse, broad palm. Then he raised his arm in salute, and Baekhyun took his leave.

The grand munus that day was crystal clear in Baekhyun’s mind, specific images standing out more than others. He remembered seeing the editor Kim Junmyeon, son of a praetor, leading the procession on an opulent ostrich-drawn chariot, followed by an extravagant circus of dancing and acrobatics. The vestal virgins made their entry, and then the emperor, preluded by a fanfare of trumpets. The passing of the gladiators through the Gate of Life, draped in gold, armed and armoured, ready for battle. They lined up before the emperor as the parade came to its end, arms straightened and raised, chanting in unison.

“We who are about to die, salute you!” For some, it would be their last words.

Chanyeol’s beast fight had been first on the program. He entered the arena to thunderous applause, still dressed in ceremonial armour, helmet missing and face on display. The lion was released from the opposite doors, stalking slowly into the ring, and Chanyeol braced his swords, getting ready for the pounce. 

Then an arrow had come flying from the back of the stands, sailing over the heads of spectators and into the arena. Baekhyun could trace its course through the air — a perfect arc, undisturbed by wind. It sank into Chanyeol’s unarmoured chest, and he fell with a cry.

As he hit the ground, ripples of shock spread through the crowd, followed by delayed outrage. Heads turned, searching for the shooter who had sabotaged the favourite. Moments later, there was a distant thundering of footsteps, and then an army was storming the colosseum, civilians and warriors alike, armed with knives and gladiuses and anything they could lay their hands on. They flooded straight through the aisles, bypassing the lower-class tiers where Baekhyun sat, and making straight for the podium. The chaos came like an explosion — Guards appeared by the dozen to counter them, and Baekhyun’s ears filled with the panicked screaming of a thousand citizens as they tussled and scrambled to escape. Baekhyun was the only one to remain still, watching the brutal mangling of Chanyeol’s form as the lion sank its teeth in, dragging him through the sand. Down on the podium, the half-blood leading the charge made it to the cubiculum, and the emperor was stabbed on his own throne.

In that moment, thousands were witness to a critical turning point. Today they saw a slave more powerful than the emperor of Rome — his unwitting sacrifice would forever change the course of their history.

◆◇◆

The spacewalkers skipped on to East Asia after England, stopping by Japan and then heading to the continent. Baekhyun caught Chanyeol in every city, seeking him out on the paper-thin guise of needing help with some task, ensuring that their gallivants continued across the continents.

The day the team convened in Dubai, Baekhyun was caught up in Hollywood with a particularly troublesome group of emergency forces who had fallen off a cliff in the Amazon in the middle of a voluntary search-and-rescue.

“If you don’t board the ferry, you’ll be pulled into the river,” he said calmly. 

The prisoners at the head of the queue continued to struggle against their invisible binds, refusing to answer. On the Styx, the boat rocked, almost full. Its passengers sat stony-faced, eyes glazing over the commotion before them.

“I can’t force you onto the boat,” Baekhyun warned. “It’s your choice.” Then he dissolved their binds, and watched as they attempted to run in five different directions, towards the cavern walls. They hadn’t made it several feet before they began to disintegrate, faces distorting and forms melting into shadow as an invisible force dragged them towards the riverbank. Their screams continued to echo through the dark cavern even as they forcibly surrendered physical form, terror-filled souls swept up into the water alongside an eternity of others.

The shadowy figure standing at the head of the boat raised his lamp, illuminating it, and with a quick nod at Baekhyun, began to row. Baekhyun returned the nod and watched the taxi leave the land of the living.

He sighed, toeing at the rocky bank, where shadowy hands — undoubtedly some of the guard — were still clawing at pebbles, scrabbling to climb out. There was no getting around unpleasantries like that. At least he was off work for the day.

He closed his eyes, felt wind rushing through his body, and rematerialised in a hotel corridor oceans away. He was standing on plush jade carpet, and a quick glance up at the ticker told him the lift had arrived.

“I need to steal you away for a bit,” Baekhyun said, as golden doors slid back and Chanyeol stepped out of the lift. The other man jumped literally, almost dropping an armful of frangipanis and files. “I have a suite for us upstairs. I can guarantee it’s better than where they’ve put you up.”

Chanyeol paused to compose himself as the doors behind him slid shut. “You came prepared today.” He raised his eyebrows, starting down the corridor.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” Baekhyun called after him. “I’ll be waiting up on forty-two.”

Chanyeol threw up an okay sign, flashing a smile before he turned the corner and disappeared from view. 

“Are you into this? Didn’t think you were the shopping kind of guy.”

“I control commerce and trade,” Baekhyun said. “Might as well call me the god of capitalism. So go ahead and buy whatever you want, I won’t judge.”

Chanyeol ran a hand across the rack of ready-to-wear. “Then I might try on a couple of sweaters. For when I head back up.”

Something caught Baekhyun’s eye, and he walked over to a shelf, untying the scarf and studying it in his hands. It was monogrammed raspberry silk, edged in tobacco stitching — one of those impractical beautifying items that wouldn’t stand against any chill. “Try it on.”

Chanyeol took the scarf, wrapping it around his long neck and tucking it into his collar. 

“You’re getting this.” Baekhyun motioned to the sales associate, who nodded in acknowledgement and headed off into the backroom. “Indulge me,” he said when he noticed Chanyeol studying him.

“You’re in a mood today, aren’t you?” His voice was low. 

Baekhyun shook his head. “No. Well, yes... but I’ve no idea what’s actually bothering me. Work stress, I guess.”

Chanyeol raised an eyebrow, as though the idea of a god having work stress was something he had never considered. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“For now, just humouring me would be nice.” He picked up the sweaters Chanyeol had laid on the table and pushed them into his arms. “Go try them on.”

He sat outside the fitting room, extraordinarily distracted, as Chanyeol came out to model the pieces for him. Baekhyun could muster enough attention to register that he looked effortlessly good in everything, as he’d expected, but when Chanyeol finished and stepped out to rejoin him, he almost jumped out of his skin at the prodding of his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol said in his usual breezy manner, arms heaped with garments. “Aren’t you going to look at anything for yourself?”

The idea took a few moments to process. “No, I think I’m good.” Forcing a smile, Baekhyun stood and gestured to an associate. “Ready to checkout, then.”

He could feel Chanyeol watching his face as he produced a black card from his pocket and had it swiped. He couldn’t bear to turn and look, not wanting to see any concern. 

The sales staff bowed and thanked them as they left the boutique, loaded up with bags. The wide corridors of the country’s ritziest mall were as empty as before, all its red marble columns and vaulted atriums somehow making the place feel more, rather than less, oppressive. Before Chanyeol could suggest otherwise, Baekhyun pushed him towards the next store, fuelled by something almost akin to desperation.

Hours later, they sat on the topmost floor of the Intercontinental at a table reserved for two. They were next to the floor to ceiling windows, the Bay and the mostly-dark desert city spread out before them. They ate slowly as the waiters served course after course, savouring the experience, taking their time. The serenity of the quiet restaurant and overload on his senses calmed him down as the night progressed, overriding his thoughts with its meditative tranquility. Sitting behind the flickering candles, Chanyeol was noticeably more contained than usual, as though he could sense Baekhyun’s turmoil and was wearing a mask of calm. They worked their way through the courses, speaking about the city and the press events in quiet, furtive tones.

The waterfront was about five minutes from the hotel gates, a mostly undeveloped stretch of shore lit only by floodlights from the street. It was quiet that night, crowds sparse, waves gentle and dark. Baekhyun watched them swell and recede as they walked the promenade above the water’s edge, fingers loosely interlinked.

There was a persistent rippling in the dark water that made Baekhyun halt. Looking down over the edge of the path, he could just about make out a trio of translucent skinned-Nereids, their mistlike dresses blending into the seafoam, only the branching texture of the corals in their hair giving away their position. They were gesticulating and waving, trying to get his attention. 

“What’s the matter?” Baekhyun asked, still standing. 

The Nereids looked at each other before answering. “We need your help, Lord Hermes,” one of them said. She wasn’t speaking out loud — her voice echoed directly in his head. “Please heal it.”

“Heal what?” Something thrashed in the water several feet further out to sea, and a spray of water erupted in a column. Baekhyun could tell it was large and reflective, like a dolphin caught in a fishing net. 

He wasn’t usually inclined to rescue random creatures. He preferred to leave non-human triage to the veterinarians. But he was standing next to a son of Apollo. “Alright, we’ll do what we can,” he said. “Bring it to the pier.”

“Thank you, Lord Hermes.” The Nereids stole one last curious look at Chanyeol before they swam away.

They started down the boardwalk to the pier, Chanyeol still staring after them. “How did it get so close to shore?” 

“The Nereids probably brought it from further out.” Baekhyun said. They were visible as currents, slowly pushing the net towards the pier. “They like getting attached to sea creatures.”

With combined effort, they pulled the animal out of the water, letting it rest in a puddle of seawater. It looked like a white humpback. Baekhyun hung back, letting Chanyeol take the lead. He rolled his sleeves up and knelt to assess the injury, using a knife to cut the net loose. “Do you have any supplies on you?”

“What do you need?”

“Standard vet dressing pack. Two, probably.” His hands worked almost alarmingly fast.

Baekhyun crouched next to Chanyeol and produced a box. “Regular dressings okay?”

“Should be.” Chanyeol eyed the engraving. “Private property of Asclepius?”

“Nicked it on my last delivery.”

Chanyeol began cleaning and debriding the wound, unusually silent as he focused, fully immersed in the sacrament process. He lifted some vials from the case, mixing their contents together in a separate flask. “Don’t go overboard with Dittany,” Baekhyun advised. “You’ll knock off the balance.”

Chanyeol followed his instructions, finally tipping the healing elixir over the injury, watching the wounds fade and disappear. The dolphin looked perfectly at home in his sure hands, not so much as flinching as he worked.

“All done.” Chanyeol was speaking directly to it, pulling the last of the net loose. “We can set you free now.” 

A wave rose from the water, and Chanyeol let go of the dolphin, allowing the water to carry it back. It hovered, raising its head above the water to look at them for a few moments, before ejecting another stream of water and swimming off.

They watched till it had disappeared into the distance. When Baekhyun glanced back at the water, the Nereids had melted back into the waves.

Later on, when they returned to the hotel and to the suite, Baekhyun drew the curtains, pushing the balcony windows open to let in the breeze. A group of shopping bags crowded the foot of the bed. Chanyeol was sitting up against the headboard, still in his slacks and silk shirt. He was rolling a stick of something, and Baekhyun climbed up to lie tentatively across his lap, feeling self conscious as Chanyeol shifted instinctively to accommodate him, uncrossing his legs. Baekhyun could see the night sky from this position, the full moon hanging amidst stars, and he could look up at Chanyeol’s face, the strong angle of his jaw, the elegant contours of his neck.

His eyes were focused, fingers working quickly, so perfect that just watching him made Baekhyun’s head delightfully woozy. It took him a moment to realise Chanyeol was talking to him. “Do you think, someday in the future, we might all leave Earth?”

“Humanity, possibly.” Baekhyun thought of the waterfront and the army of cranes in the sea reclaiming land, editing the landscape. “But I doubt the Olympians will make it that far.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever really get rid of Western civilisation.”

“What was it like up there?” It felt strange to ask a mortal about a place he, who traversed three worlds, had never seen.

Chanyeol had to think about it. “Sobering,” he said at last. “You realise how insignificant everything is. How nothing matters, not people and not even the gods. Because there’s nothing up there but wildness. You feel closer to God, or the metaphysical.”

He thought he might understand why Chanyeol wasn’t afraid of him, or could act like he wasn’t. “And Chaos, if he’s still out there.” 

“If he is, I’m just glad his essence’s spread thin.”

“Did you ever feel homesick? I guess you could see Earth.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol admitted. “We talked about it, all of us on the moon expedition from last year, that first time we saw the earthrise. It was the strangest feeling.”

Baekhyun pictured it in his mind. “Pride, maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Baekhyun could relate to the wanderlust he described, and he wanted to go too. Maybe one day soon, he’d be out there in space as well. He’d be one of the first to make it out.

He wasn’t sure exactly when Chanyeol finished rolling his joint and began carding his hands through Baekhyun’s hair, instead gazing down at him with something like pain beneath his features. He registered only the soft touch of his hands like caresses, sending shivers running over Baekhyun’s skin. 

“Do you... do you want me?” Baekhyun’s voice came out more breathless than he’d intended. A wave of embarrassment swept over him — was he reading the man right? Sometimes it was so hard to tell. 

Chanyeol didn’t answer immediately. His hand paused on the crown of Baekhyun’s forehead, on the edge of his cheek. “Can gods desire us the same way we want them?” His voice vibrated through the core of Baekhyun’s body. 

“They can,” Baekhyun said, slowly straightening up, moving closer. Chanyeol supported his arms, pulling him to sit against him. “I might not be human, but I’m still a man.” 

Baekhyun waited. “I think you already know — I do want.” His eyes were fixed on Baekhyun’s lips, but he sounded distant, detached almost, filling Baekhyun with a surge of desperation. What do I have to do to please him, he wondered. Wasn’t he doing enough? He would give anything, _be_ anything to be his. Anything for those lips to kiss him and comfort him.

They were so close — close enough to see every one of his unfairly long lashes, close enough to feel his breaths on his skin, and still Chanyeol wasn’t doing anything. “Then will you—” Baekhyun started, but before he could finish his question Chanyeol’s hand was resting on his chin, tipping it upwards, and those lips finally were on his, slow and deep, extinguishing the thought.

Time slowed, or maybe he was just light-headed with desire. He undid the buttons on Chanyeol’s shirt as they kissed, tracing a hand down his hard lean torso as Chanyeol undressed him in turn, hands coming to rest on his bare hips, completely enveloping them. He was all hard angles and sunkissed skin, powerful movements and strong arms, pulling him close, pulling him under. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He asked in a low whisper, husky and strained. “You’re a dream to me.”

Baekhyun nodded, shifting helplessly in his lap, not trusting himself to speak. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered why he still felt so remote, like a star, even as they were skin to skin — as though he’d already gotten on that rocket out and given himself up to the universe. He almost felt corrupt, unworthy of wanting something so beautiful.

There was muted intensity in his darkened eyes, fixed only on _him_ , his face, his body, growing forests of primeval desire wherever they landed, making him feel as beautiful and sensual as Eros; both powerful as a god and helpless as a mortal. Chanyeol was straightforward and overwhelming in his desire. His touch singed like fire. And yet there was a feeling like he was holding back, a subtle restraint behind his movements and reactions, like he wasn’t allowing himself to fully let go. Baekhyun had no such qualms; he had no power to have them. He was resistless to take and be taken; vulnerable to the desires of a mortal and his own, to himself get swept up and drown in its relentless tides.

Afterwards, as he lay loose-limbed on the four-poster, he watched Chanyeol head out to the balcony with his white jacket thrown on over his bare chest. He puffed away at a joint, releasing a cloud of purple smoke which veiled his upper half.

He wondered why Chanyeol hadn’t stayed in bed with him. Something inside him felt empty. And yet, the sight of him filled Baekhyun with fierce admiration, underlain by a current of ancient despair. Maybe that was what love was. 

Lying alone, Baekhyun turned away, suppressing the thoughts, ignoring the hollowness spreading inside. He was still pretending he was okay, but deep down he knew his heart was twisting slowly, painfully out of shape.

◆◇◆

Their time was running out, faster than an immortal could begin to perceive. Time and space were fluid for beings like them — they turned through the centuries as easily as flipping through a paperback, with everything and nothing happening at once. Individual moments intermittently burst with joy or crushed with loss and despair, but blended into a long line of monotony. And Baekhyun, as Hermes, was one of the most mercurial gods — he morphed and shed identities as tirelessly as tides ebbed and flowed, sliding around every change and obstacle like nothing could ever challenge him. 

There were only a few things that held up a constant presence, undeterred by shifting forms or characters. His immortal family were always the same, eternally dysfunctional and up in his business. His nomadic nature was another. No matter how civilisation evolved, how the nature of his many jobs changed, Baekhyun knew he would never feel at home anywhere but on the road. And there was romance, which always felt the same, even three thousand years apart. There had been so many of them across the eras — men and women, mortal and immortal. Every single one tainted with grief.

Among them there were some he could never forget. Baekhyun had never cursed anyone he’d loved, but many unwanted admirers had met that fate at his hand. He remembered the princess of Athens, one of his first loves, whose sister had attempted to stop their trysts out of jealousy. He’d turned her to stone, which had in turn estranged him from the princess he loved. She would not see him again, and the regret that followed shocked him in its intensity. He hadn’t known he was capable of feeling that kind of pain. It was a wound that never really healed, only scabbed over and scarred. 

Somehow, he couldn’t learn from his mistakes. His most recent tragedy was a product of the same rage-fuelled selfishness, where he cursed his lover’s counsel after they’d told her to stay away from him. Maybe the likes of Apollo or Zeus would’ve cursed her too, but Baekhyun couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. 

Living longer didn’t mean he was getting older, Baekhyun thought. No matter how much he chameleoned, he was the same young spirit he’d been three millennia ago, standing on the banks of the Lethe with his messenger bag, watching people he’d loved pass him by. Meeting Chanyeol’s eyes from across the river. Chanyeol had looked at him and smiled, inclining his head. His was the face of the boy dressed in white, leather tied around his arms, metal greaves shafting his legs, blood still suspended around the wound on his chest. He’d arrived by river taxi and been judged before the court of the dead. He’d been granted Elysium, and was finally on his way to rest. 

The boy waded across the river, sinking deeper and deeper, disappearing completely below its surface for a moment. When he resurfaced he was a blank slate, sliding past him like he didn’t even see him, through the gates into the afterlife. 

◆◇◆

“I need your help with something.” Baekhyun said, cornering Chanyeol at the beachfront cafe where he was relaxing, sunk into a lounge chair. His legs were kicked up on a footstool, leather jacket draped across his shoulders, revealing a white sleeveless top underneath. “There’s something going on in one of the castles, up north in the country. Even the mortals have picked up on it — they’ve closed the place, think it’s cursed.”

Chanyeol glanced up from his magazine. “Well, is it?” His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses. 

“Not the way they think.” Baekhyun bent down, reading the title of the magazine. _ARES. Worldkiller: The Game of Planetary Assault._ “How’s the game going?”

“Just reading. What are you looking at?”

Baekhyun grinned. “I think they’re watching you.”

Three girls with skin of burnished bronze and hair the colour of honey were standing in the shade of an ash tree, giggling. Meliae. _Figures_ , Baekhyun thought.

“Or watching you. I’m leaving before they reveal themselves as Maenads.” 

“Pity. I was going to tell them you’re interested.”

“Why do you need my help anyway?” Chanyeol closed the magazine, stowing it in his bag. “You know I’m a quest retiree.”

Baekhyun shrugged. “You know how it works. We need heroes to fill in the gaps.”

“Go delegate some fifteen year old upstart from camp, then. They’d be tripping over one another to do it.”

“Nah, I want you to do it.”

“What am I now, your prize fighter?”

Baekhyun laughed. “You said it, not me.”

“I’m only doing everything you say because I’m afraid you’ll vaporise me, or show your final form.” He sounded deadly serious.

“Or because you like me.” Baekhyun patted him on the shoulder, which finally drew a smile from him. He waited for Chanyeol to finish his coffee, then extended his hand.

Chanyeol was staring at his boots as they rose slowly into the air. 

“Nice Docs,” he said. “Not what I envisioned of the Talaria.” 

Baekhyun looked down at his black combat boots with its golden wings creeping up the ankles. “Greek sandals would clash with the rest of my outfit, don’t you think?”

They moved fast, blasting straight up through cloud cover and then northwards, skimming mountaintops. If Chanyeol was suffering, he kept valiantly quiet about it. As the terrain shifted to familiar rolling mountains and sweeping lakes, the unease Baekhyun had been holding back slowly began to creep over him again. He knew this region well, and coming here always spelt danger.

He slowed their flight, beginning a descent towards a ruined citadel overlooking Lake Como. The courtyard came into focus as they cleared the clouds, and they landed soft on the edge of the grounds. 

Baekhyun let Chanyeol a few moments to recover while he walked around the square, studying the sculptures that lined it — ghosts of rock rendered soft as silk, the folds of their robes melting into crumbling battlements. They were fairly close to water level, and the falconry was only visible by its balcony emerging from the land around the bend of the lake. As he looked up the path towards the next courtyard, a Spartoi — skeleton warrior — armed with an iron sword emerged from around the corner, patrolling the grounds. 

Behind him, Chanyeol was already notching an arrow, pulling it taut. He fired, and the wind caught the arrow, plunging it straight into the mark. The Spartoi seemed to shatter, frame falling apart as it hit the ground. 

Not that simple, Baekhyun thought to himself. They were quiet, watching for more to appear. Moments later, bones clattered against the ground as the Spartoi began to re-form, and it rose from the ground completely intact, immediately resuming its patrol. 

Chanyeol looked at Baekhyun. “How do we get rid of them?”

“We can’t. It’s a Spartoi — only Hades knows how.”

“Too bad we don’t have him on hand.”

“I might try something.” Baekhyun pulled out his pen, which lengthened and expanded into the caduceus. He whispered to the twin serpents, and they slithered off the staff, moving faster than any ordinary snake would be able to.

“What are they going to do?”

“The usual,” Baekhyun said. “Create some chaos.” Together they started up the path to the falconry.

His snakes took care of everything, as Baekhyun had known they would.

At their altitude they were still unable to see the falconry, but could hear the sounds of clattering and clanging coming from uphill, accompanied by painful metallic hisses — hopefully coming from the spartoi being set on each other, and not from the snakes. Baekhyun counted the sounds as the spartoi were vaporised in bursts of flame — there must have been at least twenty odd guards watching the cages. They made it up the steps to the first cages in time to catch two spartoi mid-fight, slashing at each other with iron swords. They looked up as Baekhyun and Chanyeol approached, momentarily distracted. And then, as though remembering their initial task, the spartoi turned towards them and advanced, swords raised, eye sockets flaming.

Baekhyun barely raised his staff and the skeletons fell to the ground, in one piece but unmoving.

“Why didn’t you do that with the earlier ones?” Chanyeol shouldered his bow. Wind buffetted at the trees around them, blew his blonde hair over his eyes.

Baekhyun sidestepped the skeletons, walking up the steps. “They’re only asleep. We’ve got maybe thirty minutes.”

The first few cages were filled with falcons, eagles and larks. They all looked underfed and uncared for, their cages littered with feathers and droppings, water pans dry. They were mostly crouched at the back of the cage, not having the energy to do much else. One pecked mournfully at its own sparse plumage.

Chanyeol looked apprehensive, not wanting to get too close. “I don’t like birds.”

“Why?”

“Bad experience.” Baekhyun looked at him questioningly. “Ravens hate my dad. Long story.”

“What’s happening out there?” a voice called from further up the path. Footsteps began to approach, shifting gravel as they dragged against the ground.

“I think the falconer is here.” Baekhyun nudged Chanyeol in the direction of the cage. “Let’s get in position.”

They ducked behind the first aviary, Chanyeol somewhat reluctantly, crouching almost cheek-to-cheek with the confused falcons and eagles. The footsteps continued to advance, and next to him, Chanyeol drew a knockout arrow and fired. The arrow sailed, and there was a thud as the falconer fell to the ground, unconscious. Moments later, two guards appeared — eight feet-tall Laistrygonians, and Chanyeol’s hand skipped over to Hydra arrows, taking them down in quick succession.

“Nice.” Straightening up, Baekhyun jogged over to check the body. It was a boy — a son of Hephaestus, whose face he recognised. As Baekhyun had expected, his ears were plugged up with wax.

Recognition dawned on Chanyeol’s face. He must’ve seen the “missing hero” headlines. “Is that —”

“Yeah.” 

“Thank the gods I only fired a knockout.” Chanyeol knelt next to the boy, checking his pulse and examining the arm where the arrow had embedded.

Baekhyun didn’t have the heart to tell him the boy would never be allowed to leave unpunished. “Leave him for now,” he said, resting a hand on Chanyeol’s back. “He won’t come to harm here.” 

The path took a tortuous route, extending in loops around more aviaries, feed and equipment sheds. Further uphill, the aviaries began to deviate from the path, wood and brass cages replaced by celestial bronze enclosures nestled within small spruce-lined glades. As they climbed in altitude, the mist thickened, both natural and divine, and a chill crept over Baekhyun’s skin. There was more at play than dropping temperatures. 

As they passed another trail, the sound of wind in the trees was abruptly replaced by ear-splitting screeching, and Baekhyun glimpsed an enclosure of maiden-headed, vulture-tailed harpies. They were much more active than the forlorn passerines lower down the hill, but seemed almost feral. Garbled pieces of speech were audible but incoherent above the din of shrill cawing.

Confusion was settling across Chanyeol’s brow. “Aren’t we going to free them?” he asked. 

“I don’t think that’s what we’re looking for,” Baekhyun said.

“What exactly are we looking for, then? Shouldn’t we make a plan?”

“I’m not completely sure,” he said, stalling. He hated making plans.

“You have an idea, so prepare me. This is the land of the Sirens, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The earplugs had been a dead giveaway. “But the Sirens have always been here, we won’t be able to relocate them. We’ll just have to bypass them.”

Chanyeol nodded. “Do you have any earplugs on you?”

Baekhyun reached into his satchel, and his fingers met the smooth surface of a small box. He pulled it out and pressed it into Chanyeol’s palm. “These won’t work on me, but I was hoping you could help with that.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Right.” He opened the box and pushed the plugs into his ears. “Don’t know how well I can play with no ear, but just tell me when to start.”

They continued up the path, passing more harpy enclosures, cages of Stymphalian birds (from which they kept well away), and a single gryphon, locked alone in a dome-shaped birdcage. The sight made Baekhyun deeply uncomfortable — there was something extra horrible about such a dignified, majestic creature being imprisoned in a small cage. And then finally, they reached a crest in the hill and Baekhyun could glimpse the top, where the falconer’s watchtower stood behind the old battlements, swathed in thick mist. Perched on the window ledge was an unassuming cage of small brown-and-white owls. 

“I think that’s what we’re here for,” Baekhyun said. “We need to release them.” Unlike many of the others they’d seen, these birds seemed quiet and unagitated, not seeming to mind being locked up.

Chanyeol dislodged one of his earplugs. “What are they?”

“Birds of omen. I don’t know how they managed to trap them all here, but you’re lucky — no ravens.”

There was no time to lose. There was still only a single path leading up to the tower, winding through clumps of forest and grassland as it climbed upwards. As they walked towards the edge of the trees, a silence descended, so thick it felt like the very air had been sucked out of the space surrounding them. Chanyeol couldn’t have registered the change, but as though Baekhyun’s slowing down was signal enough for him, the first chords began to sound.

Chanyeol walked in front of him. His music rang brilliant and haunting, effortlessly penetrating the gloom as though magically amplified. Only Apollo and his chosen ones could play like that, Baekhyun thought. Their playing bypassed the mind and spoke straight to the soul, grabbed it by the fist, molded it into whatever shape it desired. It could pluck brutally at heartstrings to the point of snapping, lock emotion in a chokehold or give it wings to fly. With that kind of power, a mere modulation or shift in key could heal a broken heart or drive a man to madness. 

The Siren song began as just an echo, thickening with the Mist as though suspended within it. And then the trees seemed to fall away and the song swelled dramatically, and they found themselves standing in a wide open field. There were no cages or cabins but a towering Roman temple fronted by a heavy-columned portico, rotating slowly into view as Baekhyun waded through the knee-height grass. They were perched between the columns as they sang, waiting to lure. The rising song clashed with the sound of the guitar, layering into heavy dissonance that burned into Baekhyun’s skull and made his eyes throb within their sockets. 

He was vulnerable in this limited form, and his legs tired as they carried him forwards. Chanyeol was shortening his strides, watching Baekhyun stumble through the grass. There was an intense worry in his eyes, but the corners of Baekhyun’s vision were blurred, drawing his eyes only to the massive temple, where he could see the Sirens as they were — shrivelled and gaunt vultures, ancient eyes full of lustful hunger. The caduceus lengthened automatically in his hands as his guard rose. _Keep playing_ , Baekhyun prayed. If he stopped, he had no way of knowing what would happen.

He didn’t know what Chanyeol saw on his face. The guitar faltered for the briefest of moments as Chanyeol’s focus slipped, and Baekhyun caught a fleeting glimpse of tanned, calloused hands, running across a bronze lyre. He struggled to concentrate, and his hand reached forwards to hold onto Chanyeol’s back, to tell him he was fine. He didn’t need to worry; he just had to keep playing. If they took Baekhyun they stood no chance, but no onlooking mortal would survive. Chanyeol kept walking, seeming to have no problem moving through the grass. The music was flowing back into his brain, more persistent than before.

Desert highways and trading towns flashed in and out of Baekhyun’s vision, interspersed with all the faces he’d tried a million times to forget. There was nothing they could show him that would shake him off balance, he thought — he was too well acquainted with hopeless longing. He faced it every day. He was holding onto it right at that moment.

Past the side of the temple, Baekhyun could see the skeletons strewn over the stairs in various states of decay. The path was in sight now. His legs felt like liquid as he pushed on through the throbbing that was building to a roaring peak. 

The Sirens’ calls faded to an echo with his first step back into the forest, dissipating the way they’d come. He took several steps forward, legs shaking, before tapping Chanyeol’s arm, letting him know it was safe to unplug his ears.

Chanyeol’s first act was to catch him by the arm, pulling him in close to look at him. “Are you alright?”

The proximity didn’t help his breathlessness. He managed a nod. “Yeah… fine.”

“I thought you were going to collapse, and I didn’t think a god _could_ faint.” Chanyeol relaxed his grip, but his eyes still searched his face. “What did they show you?”

“Nothing,” Baekhyun said automatically. “The music worked.”

There was a pause, and he could see the doubt in Chanyeol’s eyes. He felt a twinge of regret, but said nothing.

Chanyeol appeared to be struggling with himself, but he slowly let go of Baekhyun’s arm. 

They continued their climb in silence. At the top of the next flight of steps were the castle merlons, parted by an unlatched gate. Baekhyun eyed the pair of bronze cupid sculptures flanking the entrance, assessing the detail on their arrows as they passed between them.

They stepped through the arch and climbed up the spiral staircase. The falconer’s room was small and bare, containing little more than a narrow wooden bed and desk. The owls were quiet and still in their cage, and on inspection Baekhyun realised they were asleep. Behind him, Chanyeol was already searching the desk. “No keys. The falconer must’ve had it on him.” 

No lock had thwarted the god of thieves in five thousand years. With a quick glance at the mechanism, the gears shifted and the door sprung open. The sound startled the owls awake, ten pairs of gemstone eyes springing open in synchrony. 

They edged slowly towards the door, as though not quite believing they were free. Then one by one, the owls took flight, soaring into the sky until they disappeared from sight. 

Baekhyun hoped these were good omens they’d just released into the world. They took the cage off the railing and looked out through the window — the entire falconry was in view, and through patches of mist they could see individual aviaries dotted amongst clusters of trees, built onto isolated stone pavilions. “What about the rest of them?”

Baekhyun kept his eyes on the sky, trying to sense where the owls had gone. “Don’t worry, I’ll put a classified in the papers. Someone else will take up the post.”

From somewhere overhead came the sound of gears shifting, but through the Mist they couldn’t see what it was. _Hephaestus kids and their automatons_ , Baekhyun thought.

Chanyeol raised a fist and his shield expanded, blocking the window. “The falconer’s awake.” 

They’d have no difficulty warding off the cupids’ arrows, but Baekhyun didn’t trust Hephaestus kids. They needed to leave before the entire watchtower revealed itself as an automaton and swallowed them whole. He peered through a gap towards the path, winding its way up the hill. The boy was still around the halfway point, passing by the gryphon in its cage — he must’ve been able to activate his automatons remotely. 

“Lower the shield,” Baekhyun said. Chanyeol lowered his hand, and the shield collapsed back into its ring.

He climbed into the small window, stooping to avoid knocking his head, and stepped out into the air as the wings on his boots unfolded. An arrow whistled past and Baekhyun sidestepped as it shot past, embedding itself in the wall. Behind the wall, Chanyeol lowered himself into a crouch, jumping straight through the window and reaching for Baekhyun’s hand. Baekhyun caught it, grip locking like a steel clamp. He lifted off as the shield expanded behind them, arrows bouncing off its surface as the cupid automatons continued to fire. Speeding downhill, he slowed to dip towards the birdcage, willing the lock to unlatch as they passed it. Bolts slid and turned within the lock, releasing the spring, and the door swung wide open.

The gryphon’s head whipped around, staring through the open door. Baekhyun arced back into the sky as the automatons gained on them, each of their shots jerking him around as Chanyeol deflected them. Down below, he could see the gryphon stalking out of its cage, and the falconer sprinting down the hill.

“Couldn’t you just have put him to sleep with the caduceus, and let the new guy take care of it?” Chanyeol’s voice was raised, trying to beat the wind.

Clearly, flying under fire hadn’t been enough distraction for him. Baekhyun had hoped the falconer’s attempts to have them killed would’ve made him less sympathetic. “I could’ve,” he yelled, unapologetic. “But what’s the fun in that?”

He glanced backwards, and Chanyeol had to smile. Baekhyun grinned as he accelerated, soaring back southwards over the lakes and valleys.

◆◇◆

The coming of spring was not particularly evident on the coast of Cape Canaveral, where there was hardly a shift in the breeze. Probably the reason, Baekhyun thought, for Chanyeol’s confusion when he arrived over an hour late to their rendezvous, climbing up into the passenger’s seat of his monstrous, hulking offroader.

Chanyeol started the engine and began reversing. “Were you held up somewhere?”

“Had to take Persephone to Olympus for the summer.” Baekhyun strapped himself in. “We had heavy traffic on the way out.”

“Right, of course.” He turned out onto the empty driveway. “Didn’t you propose to Persephone once?”

Baekhyun bit his lip. “I don’t talk about that.”

“How’s that feel?” Chanyeol stole a sidelong glance at him, grinning.

“We’re over it,” Baekhyun said, sullen. “Eyes on the road.”

They wound through endless industrial buildings and glass-and-steel laboratories before making it out of the space centre, joining the causeway and heading across the river towards the mainland. “So, where to? 

Baekhyun paused. “I thought we could go somewhere special today.” He didn’t complete the sentence out loud. 

“Sure,” Chanyeol said, stepping on the accelerator. “Just give the order.”

They kept driving west, speeding down the highway with the windows down. They passed the urban area before winding upwards into a nature reserve, climbing uphill through dense pine forests and finally stopping to park by a still, marshy lake. There they alighted, wandering around the banks until they found a shaded spot with a good view to lie side by side. It hadn’t been two weeks since Baekhyun last saw him, but he never got sick of listening to him talk, filling him in on what he’d been preparing for the launch. Without a doctor on board, Chanyeol was again serving as one of the medical officers. They were required to undergo a series of systems and shuttle-specific training regimes, as well as countless health and safety refreshers in the buildup to proper prelaunch operations. “Can’t tell you what we’re actually doing for the mission though, that’s protected.” Baekhyun snorted at that.

It took a while before they exhausted the topic and Baekhyun dared to speak his mind, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“So you're leaving for Ascension island on Friday.”

Chanyeol straightened. “Yeah. Three weeks before launch.” He paused. “Were you planning on meeting me there?”

“No.” The honest answer slipped out too quickly for him to think about it.

Chanyeol nodded. He wasn’t looking at him. “Alright.”

His reaction made Baekhyun’s chest constrict painfully. “Do you want me to?”

This time Chanyeol took longer to answer. “Yes and no, but mostly no.”

“I could look for you when you come back.” He didn’t know why he said it. He knew it was the entirely wrong thing to say, and he might’ve just tipped their precariously weighted balance. He might’ve just ruined everything.

Indeed, Chanyeol’s response was too quick for his liking. “Don’t.”

 _Why not_ , Baekhyun wanted to say, but it was a whine and not a question. He knew why. It still felt like stab to his ego and a deeper, more brutal one to his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “That was an overstep — I didn’t mean to say it.”

“It’s okay.” 

They were quiet for a while. The sounds of the wildgrass rustling in the wind felt painfully loud.

It was several long, excruciating minutes before Chanyeol spoke again. “I’ll need time to move on. It’ll be hard, there’s no way out of it — I need those three weeks of separation to prepare myself as much as I can.”

In a strange way, the words comforted him. “This is my fault,” Baekhyun said, knowing with a sinking heart that it had never stopped him before. “For putting you through this.” 

“What?” Surprise slipped through his voice. “It wasn’t your fault. I knew what I was getting myself into. Remember the rooftop? We talked about this.”

Baekhyun nodded. At the time he’d denied it out loud, despite knowing it was an inevitability. “We’d be happy, and we’d hurt.” 

“Exactly. It’s the only outcome, if I don’t want to end up a tragedy like the stories.”

He sounded so measured, so calculated. Baekhyun couldn’t look at him. “I’d known from very early on that I wouldn’t be able to control my feelings,” he said. It almost hurt physically to speak the words. “But I met you anyway. I don’t want you to think for a second that I’m not the same — or in much deeper. You’ll move on; I don’t.”

“Now, maybe. But I can never dream of having you for my own, no matter how much I want that.” His voice slipped. “Even if you stayed, five years, ten years, it’d pass in the blink of an eye, and then you’d tire of me.”

He was so wrong. “That would never happen.”

“It would eventually. It’s what gods do; they move around. But for me, it’d be an entire lifetime — and I have things I want to do before I waste away at your side, pining after something I can’t have.” 

There was some truth in what he was saying. Baekhyun was changeable, incredibly so. He’d been with people who he’d stopped seeing for precisely that reason. And yet there was something Chanyeol didn’t know — that somehow, he’d managed to love the same man across millennia. Maybe it was love itself, that was so horribly fixed, it refused to ever subside or leave.

But he couldn’t say any of that. He could only nod, the way his feelings were binding him to. “I understand.”

He didn’t have to say yes. He didn’t play by human rules of morality or responsibility. Maybe others would’ve cursed Chanyeol for daring to refuse him — it was one way to cope with constantly giving himself up to humans who passed him by, living and dying, without another thought. But there was no rage in Baekhyun’s being — all he felt was sorrow. 

Chanyeol spoke of needing weeks to get over him. The thought caught like an ache in Baekhyun’s throat, stoking his insecurities. Time healed all wounds for them, he thought bitterly. That was the curse of immortality: his always stayed with him, long after the prickling turned to numbness. Centuries later he could still feel the hurt like it was fresh, but Chanyeol would move on and grow old without him, perhaps live out other lives. 

There wasn’t anything else he could say. Baekhyun shifted his position to lean against the slope and closed his eyes, willing the tears to retreat into their ducts, before Chanyeol looked over and caught him having a breakdown like some heartbroken teenager. A couple escaped through his lashes and he wiped them away without looking, pressing his side into the grass. 

When he’d controlled himself and reopened his eyes, the sun was setting over the hill, steeping the lake and its surrounding woods in warm honey and gold. Chanyeol’s eyes were still shut, and the sunrays were converging directly on him, as though drawn to him.

His eyes flashed open the moment Baekhyun’s gaze landed on them. “Sometimes I wish time would just stop.”

“I can’t stop it, but we could go somewhere it will.” 

Chanyeol’s uncomprehending expression brought the ghost of a laugh to Baekhyun’s chest, and he managed a smile. He rose to his feet. “Take my hand.”

With blind trust, Chanyeol reached up to grasp his hand, and together they teleported in a flash of matter.

They solidified back into existence on the marble threshold of a doorway somewhere midheaven. Behind them was bright white sky and cloud, and before them loomed a pair of heavy golden doors, pushed half-open to reveal a palatial lounge. 

Hands still clasped, they stepped over the threshold and through the doors into a wide hall that was ceilinged, but open-air — instead of walls there were dreamy marble columns lining its perimeter. The paving glowed with the luminous sheen of gypsum and moonlace bloomed in gold boxes, casting miniature haloes. There were aurae floating about the room at leisure, talking to each other in hushed voices, their gossamer dresses glistening like curls of dew.

Everything was incandescent white, from the clouds to the columns and the seating area with its velvety cushioned chairs and cast iron tables. Only the glossy ebony of the grand piano stood out as the hall’s centrepiece, a pianist running a tranquil refrain over the keys. Baekhyun led Chanyeol to one of the tables, and an aurae breezed over to them, placing a tray of miniature teacups on their table before flitting away. The ring of cups with their multicoloured liquids, and the concentric circles of the tray and table formed a dial and frame much like the face of a clock.

Chanyeol seemed to finally find his voice. “Is this Olympus?”

“Somewhere around,” Baekhyun said. “Try the drinks.”

Chanyeol picked up one of the mini teacups, moving in sequence. They were filled with rich colours, both clear and velvet — hot chocolate, Italian limoncello, cardamom coffee. One cup contained what looked like mist, another swirled with the depth of galaxies. Nectar, chartreuse, masala tea. He sipped them in turn, commenting on their flavours, and Baekhyun murmured his assent, watching his reactions. 

It started to storm as he drank around the dial, low thunder and white lightning slicing through the white cloud. The storm skirted the edges of the room, and even as rain started to pour, the sky stayed bright and the hall stayed dry, the air unmoving. Only the thunder seemed to have any effect on their airborne hallway, perfectly even ripples distorting the surfaces of the drinks each time it rumbled.

When he was done, they moved over to the dancefloor, where the pianist abruptly stopped playing. Baekhyun glanced over at him in confusion. The aurae stopped mid-drift to look over at what was happening.

“You should play,” the pianist said. He was a young male with pale skin and sharp, angular features, attired in a white suit — probably a minor godling. “You haven’t played in a while.” 

He rose from the bench, but Baekhyun hesitated. “Come on,” the pianist encouraged, and Baekhyun sat down, fingers resting against the keys. 

“I didn’t know you played piano,” Chanyeol said, leaning against the case. “Full of talents, aren’t you?”

Baekhyun adjusted the seat, finding the right place for his feet. “Don’t knock my musicianship before you’ve heard it. I sold instruments to your dad, you know.”

“Not knocking anything. Just knew you were the sort of annoying person — god — that’s good at everything without trying.” He sounded so exasperated, Baekhyun had to suppress a laugh. 

He began to play, and instinctively he began to sing, voice soaring freely over the sounds of thunder and rain. It was a song he’d first heard performed by Euterpe, at a symposium many eras ago. He couldn’t remember the lyrics, but as he played new words found their way to his lips, writing a story in forgotten languages.

When he next looked up to check Chanyeol’s reaction, he realised with shock that he’d been crying, cheeks stained with tears. Unlike Baekhyun, he seemed unconcerned about being seen, and made no move to wipe it away.

Baekhyun felt like he’d been stabbed. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

Baekhyun took his hands off the keys, reached up to hold onto his wrist. “I’ll stop playing.”

“No, continue,” Chanyeol said, a laugh escaping. “I wasn’t crying because of how bad it was.”

“Because of how good it was, then?”

“Yeah. You have an incredible voice.”

“I should add that to my resume,” Baekhyun said, lightly. He didn’t know how to deal with this sudden frank emotion. “Moved a son of Apollo to tears with my music.”

Chanyeol ignored the comment. “It might sound presumptous, but in the song I heard things you’ve never explicitly said.”

The implication brought a wave of guilt. “Sorry,” he said, reflexively, uncertainly. “I’m not the best communicator. I’m not very good at telling what’s crossing the line.”

For some reason that made Chanyeol smile. He placed a reassuring hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Stop worrying for a second, and just play.”

So he continued to play songs that he remembered, songs he’d overheard. He sang one more serenade, improvision that came to him fully formed, weaving notes through his emotions, subjects alternating and flowing like poetry. Maybe Euterpe was helping him out after all. At a point Chanyeol offered to take over, but Baekhyun refused. He wanted to play for him.

When he finally ran out of breath, the pianist stepped forward to take over and they danced as they had on the rooftop, slow and close, moving through alternating light and shadows from the lightning and stormclouds.

“This almost beats the rooftop bar,” Chanyeol said, voice low above his ear.

Baekhyun laughed, surprised. “What, it doesn’t?”

“Maybe if the storm would clear.” Chanyeol seemed to notice Baekhyun’s face fall slightly. “Or not — it’s probably the last storm I’ll see in a while.”

“Clear skies are a traveller’s blessing,” Baekhyun said. “I won’t fault you for that comment.”

“That was when I really decided I wanted this, you know,” Chanyeol said. “I wasn’t sure up till then, if I could handle it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any possibility,” he said, eyes fixed ahead. “This becoming more than a fling. Falling for you. Getting my heart broken — or getting killed, potentially. Never being able to impress or match up to you. I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle my role in this. Knowing I’d never be able to give you anything.”

A lump formed in Baekhyun’s throat. “What made you sure, then?”

“I wasn’t,” Chanyeol said. “But I wanted it anyway.”

“Were you happy, being with me?” Baekhyun asked. “All I wish for is that you were happy.”

Chanyeol nodded. “I got more than I could ever expect or ask for.” He always said the most perfect things. “And you?”

“You made me feel like I was just a man,” Baekhyun said. “More than I could expect or ask for.” 

They were face to face, Chanyeol’s facing down, Baekhyun’s tilted up. Chanyeol’s eyes were soft, gentle almost, like Baekhyun had never seen them. The short distance between them felt much too far. Even in these last moments he was so beautiful, so unpossessable, it pulled at deep forgotten aches in his soul. One day, when Baekhyun was a relic of some long-gone civilisation and ceased to exist, he prayed that this would be one of the moments he remembered as he slipped away.

The music rose as the storm built in intensity, the pianist hammering at the keys like his life depended on it, deep prolonged chords and climbing harmonies painting vivid recollections in Baekhyun’s head. There were no declarations of love. Neither asked for oaths on the Styx. Neither asked the other to remember them, to think of them — that was the opposite of what they wanted. Baekhyun rested his face against Chanyeol’s shoulder as they swayed from side to side, breathing him in, feeling his solid presence against his own. Whether he would someday spot Chanyeol on the shores of the Underworld or glimpse him through the pearly gates, this would be the last time he could talk to the man in this way, last time he could hold him like he wanted to. 

They danced together all night as the thunderstorm raged on. Somewhere above Baekhyun’s heart, another seed was sown, taking root in his immortal soul. And when the skies finally cleared and Chanyeol disappeared from his arms, the emptiness felt not crippling but peaceful, like a quiet exhale.

◆◇◆

Days later, the team was back on Ascension Island. Those last three weeks, as promised, Baekhyun stayed away.

He arrived on the day of the launch. At the hub of Mars Bay rovers were leaving the garages, taking guests across the lava fields to the observatory, but Baekhyun chose not to go with them. Instead he walked to the edge of the monastery outlook, where stacks of cuneiform stones sat crumbling over the cliffside. The twin snakes slithered off his staff as he stepped up, curling around the fortifications.

The shuttle was already in place, its engines firing up a massive cloud of smoke and dust, rolling vibrations miles in every direction. Baekhyun climbed up to stand on the parapet, precipitous. He felt as though he was looking into a vision of the future. The power of the ourea swept through the basin, pulsing alongside the energy of a million tomorrows. Out of the hundreds of thousands witnessing this moment, he alone would be here to see them for all their horrors and amazements. 

They blasted off. The shuttle travelled slowly and steadily upwards into the stratosphere in a climb that seemed to last forever, and then it was gone.

The crew would be safe. He would return with a traveller’s blessing — Baekhyun would make sure of it. 

He’d stuck to his intentions; he hadn’t crossed the line. As he stepped off the wall, a grey boundary stone shimmered into existence, laying on the grass. Baekhyun went up to it, reading the symbols etched into its surface. It declared the Green Mountain the property of Chelone, and carved below that were inscriptions of curses on anyone who dared refuse the blessing of Hermes. 

◆◇◆

**EPILOGUE**

“Bit of a slow day, isn’t it?” The voice jolted him out of his reverie. 

Chanyeol paused the game and looked up from the screen, hands still grasping the steering wheel. There was a young man in front of him, leaning against the side of the game console. He didn’t recognise the face. “Sorry?”

“You’re going to have to come with me,” the man said. “Out of here.”

His tone was careless and yet vaguely threatening. It competed with the music in its lilting, mesmeric quality.

Chanyeol knew instantly that this man was from the outside. Someone had found him, and now they were here to get him out. The man was slim and athletic. He looked like he was in his twenties, but the exact age was hard to place — there was a kind of settled confidence in his manner than contradicted his soft, youthful features. At first glance he seemed unassuming, but when he smiled, there was a rakish look about him that whispered trouble. A look that reminded Chanyeol of some people he’d used to know, who lived in a grey stone cabin at a summer camp on the East Coast. 

He was tossing his phone into the air in a way that would’ve given some a heart attack, catching it as it flipped. Something glinted, and Chanyeol managed to catch a glimpse of the symbol before it flashed out of his vision. A long staff with two curved lines wrapping around it — snakes. A caduceus. Which meant the man standing before him was…

“You’re Hermes.”

“Correct.” He was grinning, and Chanyeol could sense it — that aura of subtle, understated power.

“Got something for me to do, have you?”

“No.” He twirled his fingers like a magician, and a gold drachma appeared in his palm. “I did Fortuna a favour yesterday and fancied a go at the baccarat table.” 

“Is that so?” Chanyeol remained sitting in the machine. “If that’s the case, I’d like to be left alone.”

“I once knew a guy very like you,” Hermes continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. The seriousness of his words contrasted with his light, almost joking manner. “We met under similar circumstances. He was a good ten years older than you and somewhat wiser — or maybe he’d just already been through this phase you’re in.”

What was he talking about? “Did you manage to convince him to go with you?”

Hermes paused. “No. He knew what he wanted, and he didn’t need me.”

The way his tone changed, Chanyeol knew instantly. “He was your lover.”

“Not really. Just someone I loved.”

Chanyeol’s brow creased, and he shook his head. “Quit talking in riddles, will you?”

“I promised I’d watch over people like him.”

“Which is?”

“People who grew up without the warmth they deserved and needed. People sick of the life they’d been assigned, who wanted things for their own.”

It was all so infuriatingly vague. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m just saying you _can_ have a life of your own,” Hermes said. “This prophecy isn’t your life — and there are other ways to get away from it other than rotting away in here for all eternity.”

“How many prophecies am I supposed to survive?” Chanyeol asked, frustrated. “Easy to say, but for us it’s only a matter of time.”

“So you’re afraid?” Hermes raised his eyebrows. Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed, and he almost reached for his sword before reminding himself who he was talking to.

“I am,” he said. “Who wouldn’t be? But more than that, I want to do things on my own terms. At my own time.”

Hermes nodded. “Sure. But Fate doesn’t spare chances. You’re not escaping it by sitting in here, only delaying the inevitable.” Chanyeol was silent, and Hermes’ gaze seemed to draw in on him. “You know it yourself.”

Chanyeol leaned back in the plastic seat. “Yeah,” he said finally. He’d known this day was coming. “I know I can’t avoid the prophecy. I’m just exhausted. None of it’s fair.”

“I know,” Hermes said, and Chanyeol couldn’t tell if his sympathy was genuine. “But you’ve got time, a whole life ahead of you, after this is done. There’s a world out there for you to see. Worlds.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol said, resigned. “I take your point.”

“Thought you would.” Hermes grinned.

Taking a last look around the arcade, Chanyeol climbed out of the machine. He was expecting Hermes to disappear to Olympus or wherever he’d come from, but instead he walked with him, through the rows of video games and slot machines, past the club and casino, and out through the lobby. None of the staff stopped them. They walked straight out of the sliding doors and down the driveway, only stopping once they’d cleared the gates. Next to them was a giant billboard signing the building: _THE LOTUS HOTEL AND CASINO_. 

They were standing on a busy Las Vegas street soaked in sunlight, gleaming hotels and luxury resorts surrounding them from all directions. A steady flow of traffic cruised down the eight-lane boulevard. Tourists moved past them in large groups, from logo-toting shoppers to pool-bound sunchasers and hungover partygoers stumbling back to their hotels. Large signs and billboards advertised a million bars and nightclubs. Searching the vicinity, Chanyeol spotted one with the date, and exhaled in relief. He’d thrown away months, but he still had time.

“There’s a bus station down the road,” Hermes said. He reached into his messenger bag and produced a nylon pouch, which Chanyeol took with confusion. “Take this cash as a repaid debt — and all the best.”

On the sidewalk, the boy stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his massive grey hoodie. “Thanks,” he said uneasily. “Will I see you again?” He sounded like he didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be.

Would he? “Yeah,” Baekhyun said, not knowing the answer till he spoke it. “You’re a traveller at heart. I’m everywhere you are.”

He’d expected the boy to leave immediately, but instead he hesitated. He was an identical, younger version of the man Baekhyun had known, but the look in his eyes was so different. The son of Apollo had always had light in his eyes — a kind of stable, unshakeable self-confidence about him. This boy’s eyes were as troubled and stormy as the sea in a cyclone. “Where should I go next?”

“Home?” Baekhyun suggested. “That’s a good place to start.”

Chanyeol’s brow creased. “I can’t. There’s not a chance in hell of my stepfather taking me back. Or did you mean… Poseidon’s kingdom? Or do you mean camp?”

Baekhyun couldn’t help but smile. “Looks like you’ve got options. But you probably know which you want to start with.”

Chanyeol thought about it, laughing in spite of himself. “Alright… I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Great,” Baekhyun said. “Go with my blessing.”

Chanyeol walked away from the casino, and as he turned back to wave goodbye, Baekhyun could see the boy from 100BC standing under the colonnade, boyish smile brilliant as the sun that illuminated it, hand raised in farewell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment if you liked it! [Fic playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7p2NYOVqkemqiV7oeJSf5A?si=Z__Gc8m5T_62ILIwhywJcw)


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